


Rough Draft of Old Project

by rmm55



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 103,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmm55/pseuds/rmm55
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello! Re-uploaded and re-outlined, not that I ever got past the introduction with the other one. This is going to be an enormous project, because it's for NaNoWriMo, so updates will be FAST.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Re-uploaded and re-outlined, not that I ever got past the introduction with the other one. This is going to be an enormous project, because it's for NaNoWriMo, so updates will be FAST.

_Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,_   
_Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,_   
_Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs_   
_And towards our distant rest began to trudge._   
_Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots_   
_But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;_   
_Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots_   
_Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind._   
_Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,_   
_Fitting the clumsy helmet just in time;_   
_But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,_   
_And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . ._   
_Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,_   
_As under a green sea, I saw him drowning._   
_In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,_   
_He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning._   
_If in some smothering dreams you too could pace_   
_Behind the wagon that we flung him in,_   
_And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,_   
_His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;_   
_If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood_   
_Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,_   
_Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud_   
_Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,_   
_My friend, you would not tell with such high zest_   
_To children ardent for some desperate glory,_   
_The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est_   
_Pro patria mori._

_(It is sweet and right to die for your country.)_

* * *

 

"I'm going to die."

The tray slips from his hands and clatters to the floor. Ludwig swallows and stares; Gilbert's eyes are closed and any other time Ludwig would have thought he was sleeping.

"Nein," he says quickly. "Nein, I won't let you. I'm going to save you, Gilbert."

"You can't stop it," Gilbert whispers. Crimson eyes crack open and peer at Ludwig with weary resignation. "I can feel it, Ludwig."

Ludwig kneels on the edge of the bed and brushes his fingers through Gilbert's hair. "I'll save you, bruder," he promises.

"Don't bother. I'm not worth saving."

Something twists in Ludwig's chest. He flinches back, hands grasping at the sheets to hide his shaking.

"Don't say that. You're mein bruder, and I love you."

Gilbert's eyes widen. Ludwig swallows his terror and presses a gentle kiss to Gilbert's forehead. He can't remember the last time he said 'I love you' to his brother.

"You're mein bruder," Ludwig repeats softly. "You've always taken care of me; now it's my turn to take care of you. Don't worry. I'll protect you."

Gilbert's eyes slide shut. Ludwig stands up and backs out of the room slowly, keeping his eyes on Gilbert's deathly pale face.

 

"Good morning, Ludwig."

"He spoke today, Roderich."

"What?"

Roderich takes a step closer. Ludwig's face is hidden in his hands. There's a tremor in his shoulder that makes Roderich's heart twist.

"He wants me to let him die."

He flinches and crosses his arms over his chest. "That's . . . that's preposterous! As if you'd ever . . ."

"He said he isn't worth saving."

Fresh guilt cuts through Roderich's chest and nearly brings him to his knees. He grips the back of the chair to keep himself steady as the room sways around him. Gilbert's eyes swim across his vision. He needs to see Gilbert, needs to explain . . .

"I'll watch him today," Roderich says, hardly hearing himself talk. "Go to the meeting. Gilbert can't see how upset you are - it'll only make it worse."

"You're right." Ludwig swallows loudly and straightens his shoulders. "I'm ready to leave. I . . . thank you for coming."

"Of course. I told you I would come anytime you needed anything."

Ludwig hesitates and stares up at Roderich. Then he sighs, brushes back his unstyled hair, and looks down.

"You're a good friend to him," he whispers. "Sometimes I wonder if he knows just how good you've been."

"I don't want him to die, Ludwig," Roderich murmurs.

"You're right, of course. Sometimes I forget that my brother had others he loved."

"Have you talked to Francis or Antonio? Surely they would want to be here to see him."

"No, no . . . I don't want to worry them. It's not their place to take of him, and they would insist."

Roderich frowns. "They were his friends, too, Ludwig."

Ludwig looks up. "He was always closer to you than anyone else. I've never been able to understand it."

Roderich's lips tilt into a pained smile. "I never understood it, either."

"Alright, I've got to go. I have a plane to catch." Ludwig stands and sways on his feet for a moment. Roderich offers a hand, but Ludwig shakes him off. "No, no, I'll be alright. Just go up and sit with him, alright? Keep him calm. Try to talk him out of . . . of what he . . . said, okay?"

"I will, Ludwig. Take care of yourself, please."

"I will."

Roderich slips up the stairs and pauses just outside Gilbert's room. His stomach twists painfully when he thinks of Gilbert's words. His hand shakes when he touches the doorknob. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and pushes open the door.

Crimson eyes are the first thing he sees. He nearly flinches at the despair they hold.

"Gilbert," he says softly. He steps over a tray and sits on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling today?"

Gilbert shrugs and turns his face away. Roderich curls his fingers through the silver hair and smiles sadly when Gilbert sighs and closes his eyes. Slowly, he slides under the covers and holds out his arms to the albino. Gilbert swallows.

"You shouldn't be here."

Roderich tenses. "Ludwig asked me to be here."

"You shouldn't keep coming here."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll be that much harder for you when I die."

A tear slips down Roderich's cheek. "You're not going to die, Gilbert." It doesn't sound convincing, even to himself. Gilbert snorts.

"You know I am. Mein bruder refuses to believe it, but you've never been one for pointless hope."

"You'd be surprised," Roderich whispers.

Gilbert blinks and peers up at him, but Roderich shakes his head. The albino sighs again and leans against Roderich's chest.

"You're cold," he complains.

Roderich's lips tilt up in the ghost of a smile as he wraps his arms around Gilbert's frail waist. He tugs the blanket over them and tucks it in around Gilbert. "I'll warm up soon. Just relax and go back to sleep, okay? Save your energy."

"Mmm." Gilbert nestles closer and yawns. Roderich curls one hand through Gilbert's dull silver hair as his stomach fills with dread.

 

"Luddy!"

It's all the warning he has before Feliciano flings his arms around him. Ludwig stumbles backwards with the added weight of the Italian until his back hits the wall.

"Guten tag," he mumbles as his cheeks redden.

"It's been too long, Luddy!" Feliciano exclaims. "We need to meet more often, and not just at meetings!"

"Ja, Feliciano." Ludwig swallows. He hadn't meant to avoid Feliciano - but taking care his brother took up so much of his time that it was impossible to see Feliciano on a regular basis.

As if sensing his discomfort, Feliciano peels himself off the German and takes a step back, eyebrows raised.

"I'm not mad at you, Luddy," he says softly. "How is Gilbert?"

Ludwig swallows again. "He's . . . as okay as he can be." He is grateful when his voice doesn't shake.

"Alright." Feliciano's smile is soft and understand. Ludwig's stomach twists and he turns his head away.

"Let's go in," Ludwig mumbles.

Feliciano takes his hand and leads him into the meeting room. Francis and Antonio stare when they enter, and Ludwig thinks back to Roderich's words.

They take their seats, and Ludwig suffers through half an hour of pointless small talk before the meeting actually starts. His foot taps out an irregular pattern under the table, and Feliciano squeezes his hand every time he starts to move.

"Let's begin. If everyone could please take their seats."

Arthur stands at the front of the room, wearing his usual pinched, annoyed expression. Alfred stands nearby, fidgeting almost as much as Ludwig.

"I call this meeting to order at twelve-oh-nine pm. I now give the floor to Alfred."

Alfred steps up to the podium. His eyes scan the crowd for Ludwig. "I want my money," he says.

Ludwig's eyes narrow. "We've already discussed this, Alfred. Your president has been very understand about my situation."

"Bullshit. I need that money, and I need it soon. You have two months to pay the rest of it back in full."

Ludwig is on his feet before he realizes that he's moved. "You're insane!" he exclaims. "There's no way I could pay that back in two years, let alone two months."

"You don't get a choice in this."

"Alfred," Arthur interrupts, "surely you realize that you're being unreasonable. That kind of money . . . even England couldn't pay that back in two months."

Alfred's eyes narrow. "I don't care," he snaps. "That German bastard is the only one that still owes me money, and I damn well intend to get it."

"You crazy, crazy bastard," Ludwig mumbles. He sits back down and slumps into his chair. Feliciano's worried face hovers on the edge of his vision.

"We're all a little tight on money right now, Alfred," Francis says softly. "You ought to be more understand about Ludwig's . . . special situation."

"What do I care if that annoying idiot dies?" Alfred huffs. "He was never a friend of mine."

The room goes silent. Ludwig can hear the blood pounding through his veins.

"What did you say?" His voice is calm. Too calm, he thinks. Why isn't he screaming?

"It's not like he's a country anymore," Alfred mutters.

Ludwig shoots up and slams his hands down on the table. "And whose fault is that?" he roars. "It was all you damn western nations! You were so eager to get rid of him, so eager to erase that stain from the world. He's dying and none of you give a damn! He's mein bruder, and I've spent the last decade watching him wither away and it's your fault, all of your faults." He's shaking by the time he's done yelling, throat scratchy and chest uncomfortably tight. Feliciano's gentle hands guide him back down to his seat.

"Ludwig . . ." Arthur takes a breath. "None of us want to see Gilbert die."

"You should have thought of that before you cast your vote. I know where you stood on the matter, Arthur. You're just as guilty as Alfred."

"I'm not guilty of anything!" Alfred yells. "It was Hitler's fault for trying to combine you two in the first place."

Ludwig takes a deep breath. He squeezes Feliciano hand and closes his eyes against the red that tints his vision.

"Bastard," he breathes.

"Shut up, Alfred!" Feliciano yells, surprising everyone but Ludwig. "You have no idea what it was like for them back then; you couldn't possibly understand!"

Alfred laughs. "Then why let him stay in power?"

"Alfred!" Arthur snaps. "You go too far. Feliciano, get him out of here. We'll resume the meeting tomorrow when everyone has had a chance to cool off."

Ludwig lets Feliciano tug him up. He stumbles after the Italian, hardly aware of his surroundings. He only realizes that they're in a hotel room when Feliciano pushes him down on the bed.

"You should sleep, Luddy," Feliciano says softly. "You're exhausted."

"Nein," Ludwig mumbles around a yawn. He tries to push himself back up, but falls back on the bed when the room starts to spin. Gentle hands tug his shoes off - they clatter to the floor, too loud in the sudden silence. He crawls forward and buries his face in the pillow. Feliciano slips in beside him and tucks the sheets around Ludwig's shoulders.

"Sleep, Luddy. I'll stay with you all night."

He rolls over and shoves his face against Feliciano's chest.

"Why does he have to die?" he whispers hoarsely.

Feliciano's fingers curl through his hair. Ludwig's stomach twists as he presses himself closer to the small brunette. A wave of exhaustion courses through him, and his eyes slide closed.

"It's not fair," he whimpers. "I can't . . . can't save him . . ."

"Shh," Feliciano soothes. "Don't think about that. Just sleep, Luddy."

Exhaustion pulls him under, into welcome blackness.

 

Roderich blinks away the spots in his eyes and flicks off the lamp with an annoyed groan.

"No, don't," Gilbert whispers. He tenses and clenches his fingers in Roderich's shirt. "T-Turn it b-back on."

"Gilbert? What's wrong?" His voice is thick with sleep and barely audible.

"N-Nothing. J-Just t-turn it b-back on."

Something clicks in Roderich's sleep-addled mind. "Gilbert . . . are you afraid of the dark?"

"N-No!"

"It's okay if you are," Roderich soothes. "Everyone is afraid of something."

"I . . . I don't want to die in the dark, Roderich."

His stomach twists. He can't stop himself from reaching out to brush his thumb across Gilbert's cheek. "Gilbert. You're not going to die tonight."

"I might."

"You're not going to. I promise." Roderich tightens his arms around Gilbert's waist. The albino sucks in a breath and clutches tighter to Roderich's shirt.

"O-Okay," Gilbert mumbles.

Roderich rubs one hand across Gilbert's back in a circle. The albino relaxes under his touch, slowly at first. Then his breathing evens out as he drifts back off to sleep. Roderich yawns and closes his eyes, but sleep doesn't come.

 

"Luddy? Wake up!"

Ludwig groans and blinks his eyes open. Sunlight streams through the open curtain, falling around Feliciano's head like a halo.

"What time is it?"

"It's almost ten, the meeting is going to start in an hour and a half. I figured you'd be hungry, so I ordered breakfast!"

"Ten more minutes," Ludwig mumbles. He shoves his face back down in the pillow and pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Feliciano giggles and curls against his chest, hair tickling Ludwig's nose.

"Aren't you hungry?" Feliciano giggles again and pokes Ludwig's cheek.

"Tired."

The Italian's giggles cut off so suddenly that Ludwig cracks an eye open. Feliciano's amber eyes are wide with concern.

"Luddy! Tell me you've been sleeping at home."

Ludwig is silent. Feliciano's eyebrows pinch together. The concern in his eyes makes Ludwig's stomach flip.

"I'm fine," he says hastily. "I just haven't slept well."

"Luddy, you have to take better care of yourself. What would Gilbert say if he could see you?"

"I'd rather spend time with him than sleep."

Feliciano flinches and looks down. "I know," he says softly. "But you need to take care of yourself. You still have people counting on you, Luddy."

"Ja, you're right." He pushes himself up. "You said you ordered breakfast?"

"Si! It should be here soon. Do you want to take a shower or anything?"

"Ja. I will be back soon."

He makes his way to the bathroom on unsteady feet and stares at himself in the mirror for a long moment. Then he sighs, rubs his eyes, and strips. His skin prickles in the cold air as he waits for the water to warm up.

The warmth spreads through his achy muscles as he lets the water cascade down on his back. He clenches and unclenches his fist a few times.

_You still have people counting on you, Luddy._

Ludwig would be a fool not to realize that Feliciano was talking about himself. He knows what he is to the Italian - a protector, a best friend, someone to trust and rely on. He hasn't been those things lately, and he has no one to blame but himself. And Gilbert, Gilbert relies on him more than Feliciano ever has. Ludwig hasn't been fair to either of them.

It takes a long time for his muscles to relax. He rinses the last of the shampoo from his hair and steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. He can hear Feliciano chatting noisily with someone in the hotel room as he dries himself off and slides his boxers back on.

He has to stop himself from groaning out loud when he sees Lovino leaning against the hotel door with his arms crossed and his usual scowled stretched across his lips.

"You didn't come back to the room last night," he says as Ludwig steps out of the bathroom. His lips curl when he sees the German. "Guess you were too busy."

"Fratello, don't be like that," Feliciano says. "Luddy needed my help; you saw what happened at the meeting!"

Ludwig sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls on a t-shirt, determined to ignore the older Italian.

"Yeah, I saw. I don't get why he's being such a baby about things. He's had years to deal with the fact that Gilbert's going to -"

"Lovino!" Feliciano snaps. "Don't you dare! How would you feel if it were me dying instead of Gilbert? You'd be doing the same thing that Luddy is doing! So don't you dare act like this is his fault."

"That's beside the point!"

"No it's not. I'll see you at the meeting, fratello. I'd like to eat breakfast with Luddy in peace."

The door slams. Ludwig keeps his eyes on the ground and focusing on his breathing. Feliciano's arms slip around his shoulders and pull him close.

"Don't listen to him, Luddy," Feliciano whispers. "He doesn't mean it."

Ludwig struggles to speak. He presses his face against Feliciano's chest as his throat constricts. He clears it. When he finally forces the words out, they're muffled by Feliciano's shirt.

"You're not allowed to die, either," he mumbles.

"Luddy," Feliciano breathes. He tightens his arms around Ludwig's shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that, I was just trying to - oh, Ludwig, of course I'm not going to die. I'm not going anywhere, I promise, okay? I'm going to stay right here and annoy you until you get sick of me."

"Could never get sick of you," Ludwig mumbles. And he means it, he does - Feliciano's near-constant ramblings might drive him up a wall sometimes, but there's something comforting about it. He's never minded having to take care of the Italian, either. It gave him something to focus on whenever everything else seemed pointless.

Feliciano giggles. "Good! Now, come on, sit up. You should eat something before we leave. It might be a little cold, you took so long in the shower, but I didn't want to bother you so I just covered it up and tried to keep it warm."

"What did you order?"

"Pancakes!"

A hesitant smile tilts Ludwig's lips up. "Let's eat."

 

It's noon when Roderich finally opens his eyes. Gilbert is still cradled in his arms, fast asleep. Roderich's back aches, but he lies still and tries not move. He can't remember the last time he saw Gilbert sleeping so peacefully. The albino's insomnia had long since lost to the sickness that kept Gilbert in a constant state of exhaustion, but that had never made his nights any easier.

Gilbert stirs and Roderich holds his breath, hoping the albino will settle back down and go to sleep. Crimson eyes blink open, though, and peer at him in surprise.

"You stayed," he whispers, voice thick with sleep.

Roderich frowns. "Of course I did. Why wouldn't I?"

Gilbert shrugs and closes his eyes again. A few moments pass in silence as Roderich tries to figure out Gilbert's words.

"Will you play for me?"

"Hmm? Oh, piano? Of course. Where did Ludwig put your wheelchair?"

"I want to walk."

Roderich flinches. "Gilbert . . ."

"I know, I know. It'd be nice, though." He pushes himself up on shaky arms. "It's in the closet. I didn't want to see it."

It takes a few minutes to maneuver Gilbert into the wheelchair. His legs dangle uselessly until Roderich sets his feet on the chair. Gilbert sighs and keeps his eyes averted as Roderich pushes him down the hall to the music room.

It is the same as ever. Papers are organized into neat piles, and the song that Roderich last played still lies on the stand.

"Does Ludwig ever use this room?"

"Nein, he doesn't like music the way you do. He only set it up because I asked him to."

"That was very kind of him." Roderich settles on the bench and arranges the sheet music. His fingers pause just above the keys. "Do you have any requests?"

"Play whatever. I don't care."

"Alright then." His fingers press down the keys and music fills the room, taking his breath away. Gilbert is silent beside him as he plays, swaying with the music until the room fades around him.

When the song ends, he is breathless. He can't remember the last time he played that well. Even Gilbert looks surprised.

"Have you been practicing?"

"No," Roderich answers honestly. "That's the first time I've played in months."

"Why?"

"I've . . . been too busy."

Gilbert frowns. "I can tell that you're lying, so you might as well 'fess up."

Roderich looks away. "No."

"Damn it, why do you have to be so stubborn? Just tell me why you haven't played. You love music, it's not like you to stop."

Roderich hesitates. "I . . . sold my piano," he says finally.

"You _what_?"

"I sold it. I . . . my government . . . we're not doing well, Gilbert. That was a very rare piano, and every little bit helps. It isn't right for me to have fine things when my people are going hungry."

"Bullshit," Gilbert sneers. "That is absolute bullshit. If anyone deserves fine things, it's you. You're _Austria_ , you do more for that country than everyone in your government combined. It's not right for them to take that away from you."

"I gave it up willingly," Roderich says quietly. "It was my choice. They didn't make me."

"Why?"

"I wanted to help. That money did a lot, Gilbert. Besides, a lot of my people don't have enough money to get by. The money from the piano went to organizations that are trying to feed those that were hit hardest by the recession."

Gilbert's eyes soften. "Does your leader know how much you do for your country?"

Roderich holds back a smile. "I'm not doing it for him, I'm doing it for my people. They deserve the best, and if I can help them in any way, I will."

"You'd make a good ruler. A real one, not a behind-the-scenes one like you're supposed to be. They should see how much you do for them."

"It's not about the recognition. It never has been. You know that."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I still think you should get some kind of a medal or something."

Roderich laughs. "What would I do with a medal?"

"Ha, you'd probably sell it and give the money to charity."

"Is that a bad thing?"

Gilbert's laugh cuts off, and he looks down. "I wish I still had people I could do that for."

"I know, Gilbert. I know."

"Why me? Why did they have to take my country from me?"

"They don't understand what you went through. How could they? None of them saw what _he_ was like behind the scenes."

Gilbert's eyes darken. "Don't talk about him."

"I'm sorry."

"I . . . you're fine, I just . . . don't like to remember."

Roderich squeezes Gilbert's hand. "Do you want to go back to bed? You look tired."

Gilbert waves away his concerns. "Nein, I've spent too much time in bed. Can you take me outside?"

"Of course. The stairs might be difficult, though."

"I'm lighter now."

Roderich's smile tightens, but he nods and stands up. "Come on." He rolls Gilbert's wheelchair to the top of the stairs, and then lifts Gilbert out of it. Gilbert is much lighter than Roderich remembers. It is easy enough to carry him down the stairs and set him on the chair that Roderich found Ludwig in. He brings the wheelchair down, puts Gilbert back in the wheelchair, and pushes him out the back door.

Gilbert takes a deep breath and tilts his head back. The sun shines down on his pale skin and brightens his dull hair. For a moment, he almost looks like the old Gilbert, the healthy, carefree Gilbert that Roderich remembers from before the world wars.

"Ludwig's really let this place go," Gilbert groans. "We used to tend the garden together, you know. He always loved coming out here with me."

"It probably doesn't feel the same without you," Roderich says. "I think he's waiting until you're better to fix it up."

Gilbert stills. "Roderich . . ."

"Don't say it," Roderich interrupts. "I want to enjoy this time with you."

"Why? We used to be enemies."

Roderich laughs softly. "I never thought of you as my enemy. You just happened to be on the wrong side of the battle. It was more political than anything - aside from you being a nuisance, I never had any reason to think ill of you."

"We were always going to war." A small smile stretches across Gilbert's face. "Those were the days. An army behind me, the wind in my hair . . . I was on top of the world. I felt like I'd live forever." His smile turns bitter. "That damn Brit, though . . ."

"Don't blame Arthur," Roderich chastises. "He was scared. We all were. _He_ had all but destroyed your country with that idiotic merge. And there were a lot of people that played Bismarck for unifying Germany in the first place. Two world wars starting with Germany - what were they supposed to think?"

"Actually, you started that first one."

Roderich's eyes narrow. "Actually, you can't blame that on me. The archduke was assassinated and my people were screaming for vengeance. It was natural back then to go to war - I never expected it to be so terrifying, though."

"Yeah, assassinating old Franz was a pretty stupid thing to do." Gilbert snickers. "They really didn't like you back then."

"I can't imagine why." Roderich turns up his nose and crosses his arms.

"You were a bit of a snob back then, if I remember correctly."

"Your memory must be mistaken, then."

"Nah, you've always been a snob."

"I have not! I resent that accusation."

"Resent it all you want, that doesn't make it less true. You've always been quick to turn up your nose at other people. You're even doing it now."

Roderich's head whips around and he narrows his eyes at the smirking Prussian. "You're still a nuisance."

"Yeah? Then why are you here?"

Roderich sobers. "Gilbert? Can I ask you a question?"

"If I say no, are you going to ask it anyways?"

"No, I will respect your right to decline."

Gilbert sighs. "Fine, ask away."

"Why are you talking?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!" Roderich sighs. "I just mean . . . it's been so long since I've heard your voice. It's been even longer for Ludwig. Why today, of all days?"

Gilbert looks down. "I don't know. I . . . I can feel that I don't have much time left. I guess I just don't want to waste it. Refusing to talk isn't going to make me any better."

Roderich reaches out and squeezes Gilbert's hand again. "Ludwig missed your voice. I don't know how many times he complained that you would only answer to me. He tries so hard, Gilbert. You ought to talk to him."

"It's harder to talk to him," Gilbert whispers. His crimson eyes stare at him for the longest moment, and then look down. "He's . . . been here, through everything. I hate that he sees me this way. I was the strong big brother, and now I'm nothing."

"You're not nothing. You're Gilbert Beilschmidt, royal pain in everyone's ass and Ludwig's older brother. He loves you, and he just wants to see that you get better."

"I'm not going to get better, Roddy. I'm going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I am going to die soon. I doubt I'll make it to the end of the year."

"You shouldn't think like that. It's been, what, thirteen and a half years since the wall came down? You've survived this long - who's to say you won't keep surviving?"

"I can feel it. My legs are already gone. My arms are getting weaker every day. Soon I won't be able to move. Then what? You know me, Roddy - there's no point in living for me if I'm stuck in a bed. If that happens, I'd rather you just shoot me and get it over with."

Roderich flinches. "Neither Ludwig nor I could live with ourselves if we did that."

"But I don't want to live like that."

"Don't think about it, Gilbert. Maybe it won't happen."

Gilbert rolls his eyes. "I thought you weren't one for annoying positivity."

"A lot of things have changed over the years."

"Yeah." Gilbert falls silent. Roderich moves to sit down on the deck stairs. The garden is peaceful, and he soon finds himself relaxing back against the banister. It isn't comfortable, but it'll do.

"Are you sleeping?"

He cracks his eyes open and glares at Gilbert. "Not _now_."

"Sorry. But if you're tired, go back inside and sleep. I'll be fine on my own out here."

"I'm not leaving you out here alone."

Gilbert scowls. "I'm not useless, you know. I can take care of myself."

"I didn't say you were useless. It makes me feel better to stay out here where I can keep an eye on you."

"That's stupid."

"It's not stupid."

"Yes, it is."

"I'm not going to sit here and argue with you."

"You already are."

Roderich crosses his arms and bites back his words. Gilbert smirks and sticks his tongue out.

"Oh, so mature, Gilbert."

"You wish you were as mature as the awesome me."

"As if."

"Kesese! You can't resist the awesome me."

Roderich rolls his eyes and sighs. "You're being a nuisance again, Gilbert."

"If I'm such a nuisance, why are you still here?"

_Because you're my closest friend_. "Because Ludwig asked me to. He's been a good friend through the years, I was happy to do him this favor."

Gilbert's smile slips for a fraction of a second. Roderich bites his lip.

"And," he adds, "like I told you upstairs, you've never been my enemy. Between the world wars, I came to think of you as a friend. When Ludwig asked me to help, I was more than happy to comply."

"Right. Friend." Gilbert laughs darkly and rolls his eyes. "Alright, I have to piss. Take me back inside."

Roderich pales. "Do I have to . . .?"

"No, you don't have to help me piss. I can at least do _that_ on me own."

"How?"

"Does it matter how? Just wheel me into the bathroom and close the door. Jesus, you'd think you were excited about seeing my five meters."

Roderich turns bright red. "Gilbert! Must you speak like that?"

"Hell yeah, I must. It's mein awesomeness."

"I shudder to think of how Ludwig could have put up with you for so long."

"Ha, he's even more of a prude than you are, sometimes. That's why it's taking him so long to get into that little Italian's pants."

Roderich shudders. "Your brother's love life or lack thereof is none of your concern."

"Are you going to wheel me into the bathroom or am I going to have to piss myself?"

"Fine, fine, but only if you'll be quiet."

Gilbert mimes zipping his lips shut and smirks at Roderich.

_This is going to be a long day, isn't it_.

 

Ludwig walks into the meeting room with his head held high. Feliciano chatters by his side, greeting everyone that they pass on their way to their seats. His chest still twinges when he thinks of Alfred's words from the previous day, but he refuses to let them affect his concentration.

"Ludwig?"

"Hello, Francis. What can I do for you?"

Francis fidgets. "I was wondering . . . how is he? I haven't seen him in so long."

"He's as okay as he can be. He gets tired easily, so he hasn't had many visitors. Roderich is staying with him for the time being, while I am away."

"Ah, yes, I'm sure Roderich will take good care of him. Pass along my greeting, please. If there's any chance I could see him . . . please tell me, okay?"

"Ja, Francis."

Ludwig is glad when the Frenchman leaves. He turns to Feliciano. "In all the craziness of yesterday, I neglected to ask how your country is faring."

"Oh, we're alright." Feliciano smiles. "It's not the best right now, but the east got hit a lot harder. Lovi and I are doing everything we can to get food to the people that need it! We've been helping out in some of the charities, and all of the people are so super nice!"

"Is there anything you need help with?"

"Worry about yourself, Luddy. Italy is better off than Germany right now."

Ludwig sighs. "Ja, as much as I hate to admit it, you're right."

"Of course I'm right! I'm always right!" Feliciano giggles and wraps both of his arms around one of Ludwig's, clinging tightly.

"Everyone take your seats please!"

Vash stands at the front of the podium, gung hanging loosely at his side.

"Oh, good," Ludwig mutters to Feliciano. "Maybe we'll actually get things done today."

"First on the agenda is Arthur's economic recovery plan."

Arthur stands and approaches the podium. "Our best chance for recovery is through an increase in trade," he says. "This needs to be a global effort at reformation in order for it to work."

Ludwig takes careful notes as Arthur drones on. It is a good plan, one that Ludwig is confident will work - but only if they can get every major nation in the world to do their part. From the worried looks on the others' faces, he doesn't see it happening.

Others circle through, telling their plans for fixing their economies, but none of the plans seem strong enough. Ludwig knows that there's only one way to pull out of their recession, one that's worked countless times over the years. It's a measure no one wants to take, though.

When the meeting adjourns for the afternoon, he follows Feliciano back to his room and lies down again. Feliciano curls up beside him and stays silent.

"It won't work," Ludwig says after a long stretch of silence. "You and I both know there's only one sure way of boosting everyone's economy simultaneously."

"Don't think that, Luddy. No one wants to go through that again."

"I'm not saying it's a possibility, just that it's the only sure-fire way to fix things."

"It's not going to happen," Feliciano says firmly. "We won't let it, right?"

"Ja, ja." Ludwig yawns and closes his eyes. "I'm going to sleep for a while. Will you wake me up for dinner?"

"Si, of course I will. Do you want to go to the main dining room and eat with everyone, or would you rather stay here and order room service?"

"We ought to go to dinner. I can't hide in my hotel room all day."

Feliciano smiles softly. "I'll wake you up."

 

Roderich's eyes flicker open. He sits up, groaning at the stiffness in his shoulders.

"Gilbert?" he calls.

He stands up on shaky legs. When did he fall asleep? The last thing he remembers is watching a movie with Gilbert, but the Prussian is nowhere in sight.

"Here."

Gilbert wheels into view.

"Where were you?"

"I went back outside," he says. "I wanted to watch the sun set."

"Are you hungry? I can make something to eat."

Gilbert shakes his head and wheels himself over to the stairs. "I just want to go back to bed. I haven't been awake this long in a while, and I feel like I'm going to pass out any second."

Roderich nods. Gilbert's crimson eyes are shot with exhaustion, and the dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. Gently, he lifts the Prussian and pushes the wheelchair out of the way. Gilbert leans his head against Roderich's shoulder and falls asleep before the Austrian takes a step. Roderich walks up the stairs carefully, doing his best not to move too much. Gilbert doesn't stir, even when Roderich sets him on the bed and pulls the blankets up around his shoulders.

"Good night, Gilbert," he whispers.

 

Ludwig sits beside Feliciano in the main dining hall and tries to tune out the voices of everyone else. Lovino sits across the room with Antonio, alternating between glaring at Ludwig and sending Feliciano concerned glances. Antonio is thinner than Ludwig has ever seen him, with his ribs defined against skin as pale as Gilbert's.

"The recession hit hard," Feliciano says softly, eyes on Lovino and Antonio. "Big Brother Spain is starving. There isn't enough food to go around. We've been helping as much as we can, but we don't have that much extra to give away."

"I wish there was something I could do."

"We all do. But we're all going through the same struggles right now, and the best thing to do is to work together to get out of it."

Ludwig smiles. "When do you get so wise?"

Feliciano giggles and latches onto his arm. "I've always been wise! I'm older than you, remember?"

"So?"

"So, of course I'm smarter!"

"I don't think that's how it works, Feliciano."

Alfred chooses that moment to sit across from Ludwig. Ludwig stiffens.

"Look, I really do need that money."

"I told you, Alfred, I don't have the money. Your president has already given me a pardon until the worst of the recession is over. Why can't you leave it alone?"

"Maybe your government wouldn't be so bad off if you would stop wasting your time with Gilbert. He's going to die, just let him die already."

"You're going too far with this," Ludwig warns. "Leave mein bruder out of this. It's your fault he's dying in the first place."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, he was going to die either way. There's not enough room in the world to confine his ego. He would have started a war eventually, and we'd be a lot worse off than we are now. Get me the money, or I stop trading with you."

"How dare you?" Ludwig demands. "How dare you interfere in this? Our leaders have reached an agreement and I expect you to honor it, Alfred. I have given you no reason to do anything."

"I need that money."

"There are other ways to get money. You don't need to bully me into paying back the reparations that I have promised you. They will be paid." Ludwig frowns. "Why do you need the money so badly?"

"I just do, okay?" Alfred scowls. "It's none of your business."

"It is when you're demanding _my_ money."

Alfred's scowl deepens. "Back off, Nazi."

"Back off," Ludwig warns.

"Or what, you'll stick me in a concentration camp?"

Ludwig slams his hand down on the table and stands up. "I will be going back to Germany now. Please, carry on without me. I doubt I will be back for the remainder of this conference." He glances once at Feliciano as he hurries from the room, pressing his hands against his sides to hide their shaking from the other nations.

"Luddy! Luddy, wait!"

Ludwig pauses just inside the elevator and holds the door open for the frantic Italian.

"I'm coming with you!" Feliciano exclaims. "I'll help you take care of Gilbert."

"Feliciano, you don't have to. You're needed at the meeting."

"There's two of me, silly. Lovino can make decisions on his own. Besides, you're more important right now. I'm coming with you, and that's final!"

"Alright, you can come. Gilbert tires often, so be careful with him."

"Okie dokie!"

 

Roderich stirs when he hears a car door slam. Feliciano's voice floats up through the open window. A small smile tilts his lips up.

"Gilbert," he whispers, shaking the Prussian's shoulders. "Gilbert, Ludwig is back."

Gilbert doesn't stir.

"Gilbert? Gilbert, wake up! Ludwig, he's not waking up!"

 

Ludwig drops his bags and races up the stairs, face paling. He bursts into Gilbert's room and pushes Roderich away, taking Gilbert's hands in his. The albino's breathing is ragged and his skin is ghostly pale.

"Gilbert," he whispers. "Please, wake up."

Gilbert's eyes flicker open. The red irises are bloodshot and unseeing.

"B-Bruder?" he whispers, voice cracked and hoarse. "I . . . I can't see . . ."

"No!" Ludwig exclaims, heart thundering in his ears. "No, no . . . it's okay, Gilbert, you'll be okay, we'll find a way to fix this."

"Everything hurts." A strangled cough forces its way past Gilbert's lips and dots the sheets with red blood. Ludwig's hands shake as he brushes a hand through Gilbert's dull silver hair.

"Sleep," he whispers. "I'll stay with you. I promise."

Gilbert nods, winces, and closes his eyes. He curls on his sides, hiding his face against the pillow as his shoulders shake and silent tears fall from his eyes. Ludwig's chest constricts as he watches his brother fall apart. He swallows, forces himself to his feet, and beckons Roderich into the hallway.

"He was fine all day, I swear, Ludwig. I took him out to the garden and played a song on the piano for him. We watched a movie in the living room until he wanted to go to sleep, so I carried him back upstairs, and he's been sleeping ever since."

"I believe you," Ludwig mutters. "I just . . . I can't lose him, Roderich, I can't." His voice cracks at the end, and he has to cover his eyes to hide the tears that threaten to fall.

"You won't," Roderich says softly. "You stay with him, okay? I will go to the meeting in your place."

"Thank you, Roderich. Try to avoid Alfred - he's on the warpath about getting his money from me. He has a lot of nasty things to say about mein bruder."

"Ah, so that's why you left."

"Ja. I can't stand to listen to what he has to say when he is part of the reason why mein bruder is dying."

Roderich pushes lightly on his shoulder. "Go be with him. I'll call you after the meeting ends tomorrow."

"Ja, danke."

"Bitte."

Ludwig hurries back into Gilbert's room and sits down in the large chair beside the bed. Feliciano hovers next to him, eyes filled with concern and worry.

"Are you okay, Luddy?"

"That doesn't matter," Ludwig whispers. "Only Gilbert matters."

"Don't say that. You matter to me."

"I can't let him die, Feliciano. I can't lose him."

"You won't." Feliciano takes a hesitant step forward and touches Ludwig's shoulder. "You should rest, too. You've been doing so much."

"Nein, I won't leave him alone."

"Alright. Let me bring you a blanket, at least."

Ludwig nods and Feliciano disappears out the door. While he waits, he leans back in the chair and sighs, eyes never leaving Gilbert's sleeping face.

Feliciano returns a few minutes later with two blankets. He tucks on blanket around Ludwig's shoulders, and then climbs onto Ludwig's lap and curls up against his chest.

"I said I'd stay with you," Feliciano murmurs. "I'm not leaving your side."

Ludwig swallows past the wave of affection that slams into him. "Danke, Feliciano," he manages to whisper.

"You're welcome, Luddy. Anything for you."

Ludwig sits with Feliciano on his lap and watches Gilbert sleep until exhaustion forces him under.


	2. Tonight, We Go To War

"Ludwig? Ja, it's Roderich. I'm calling from the hotel phone."

"Guten tag. How is the meeting?"

"Poorly. Alfred insists on being an idiot, and Arthur is too exhausted to stop him."

Ludwig sighs. "I warned you."

"Ja, I know. Don't worry, I've kept my distance." He shifts, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his head as he searches through his notes. "There's nothing of importance to report; nobody seems to agree on any particular plan, and they all sound crazy."

"I know. I think Arthur has the best plan, but mobilizing most of the world is going to take an extreme amount of effort. He has everyone on the list from Brazil to South Africa."

"Those two don't like coming to world meetings." Roderich sighs and closes his notebook. "How is he?"

"Better. He still can't see, but the coughing has stopped and he's keeping food down. Feliciano has been bouncing around like a lunatic all morning. I had to let him outside like a dog."

Roderich smiles and laughs softly. "Yes, he's always been very energetic. It wasn't as bad when he was little - Lovino was much worse."

Ludwig chuckles. "I should probably get back to him. Thank you for the update."

"I heard you have a meeting with your boss tomorrow."

"I do. I'm hoping to discuss the economic crisis and to get advice on what I can do for Gilbert."

Roderich hears the double meaning in Ludwig's words and frowns. "Ludwig, don't do anything drastic. Gilbert would never forgive you if you did what I think you're planning."

"He can be angry with me all he wants as long as he's alive."

"Who would you even - no, never mind, I don't want to know. If you need my support I will grant it unconditionally, you know that, but I would rather not have to. Modern politics are a tricky affair, you know, and it might be troublesome for you if the wrong people got involved."

"I know. I'll be careful."

"Auf wiedersehen."

"Auf wiedersehen, Roderich."

Roderich sighs and hangs up the phone. He sits back against the headboard and closes his eyes. _Why does that have to be the only way to keep him alive?_

 

"Luddy!"

Feliciano barrels into the room and slams into Ludwig at full force. The German sways on his feet for a moment, arms tightening reflexively around Feliciano's waist.

"Can I come to your meeting tomorrow?" Feliciano chirps.

"Nein, I need to meet in private with mein boss."

"But Luddy! I can help!" His lips turn down in a pout as he stretches up on the tips of his toes to throw his arms around Ludwig's neck.

"I know you can, but I need to do this on my own. You can come to the next one; I promise."

"Yay! I'll stay here and watch Gilbert so you don't have to worry while you're gone!"

"That would be wonderful, Feliciano. Did you finish dinner?"

"Si, the pasta is all ready."

Ludwig raises an eyebrow. "Pasta again? Don't you ever get tired of eating it?"

Feliciano's mouth falls open. "Luddy! How could I ever get sick of pasta?"

"Nein, I suppose you couldn't. Very well, pasta again. I'll bring Gilbert down if you can set the table."

"Si, si!" Feliciano disentangles himself from Ludwig's arms and runs off towards the dining room, giggling and singing softly. Ludwig's lips twitch into a half smile as he walks back up the stairs.

 

Gilbert whimpers when he feels Ludwig's hands. His eyes flicker back and forth, searching through the darkness for his brother's face, but seeing nothing.

"Ludwig?" he whispers. He grimaces as the words pass through his dry throat. "Is that you?"

"Ja, bruder. I've got you."

He can tell from the swaying motion that he's being carried downstairs. He feels the cold air, Ludwig's colder skin against his arms and waist, and the cold metal of his wheelchair.

"Where are we going? And why is it so damn cold in here?"

"Feliciano left the windows open all night. And you're going to come have dinner with me and Feliciano. He made pasta, of course, so it's guaranteed to be good."

"Ludwig." Gilbert sighs. "I can't . . . feed myself."

"I know. I'll feed you. It's fine, bruder."

"I don't like this."

Ludwig sighs. "You've taken care of me for as long as I can remember. My first memory as Germany is you standing over my hospital bed with a glass of water, helping me drink. Please, bruder. Let me take care of you."

Gilbert crosses his arms over his stomach. "Fine. Take care of me."

"Gilbert! It's Feli! I'm so happy to see you awake, Luddy's been so worried about you the past few days!"

A smile flickers across Gilbert's face. "Hey, Feli. Is he still being a stick in the mud?"

Feliciano giggles. "Si, it took a whole hour for me to convince him to let me use the kitchen."

"An hour? Damn, you've really softened him up. The last time I tried to cook, he kicked me out of the kitchen and locked me in my room."

"Luddy! Did you really do that?"

Ludwig sighs again. "Gilbert was drunk and thought that alcoholic cookies were a great idea. I locked him in his room so he could sober up."

"Kesese! The awesome me has the best ideas!"

"Nein, you have terrible ideas."

Gilbert can hear the smile in Ludwig's voice. He lets his arms fall to his side and tries to force a genuine smile onto his lips. "That's not what you were saying when I convinced you to go camping in the Swiss Alps with me."

"That camping trip was fun, even if we did get lost." Ludwig snickers. "Gilbert doesn't know how to read a map."

"Hey! I do too know how to read a map! It's not my fault that the stupid map was in Hungarian."

"She's your best friend, Gilbert, the least you could do is learn your language. She speaks German, after all."

"That's because German is the most awesome language. Don't you agree, Feli?"

"What! Italian is awesome, too!"

"Yeah, but not as awesome as German. German is awesome, kesese!"

"I like Italian better. It sounds pretty!"

"Italian is okay, but it's not as good as German."

"If you two are finished arguing, I would like to start eating now."

"Oh! Of course, of course, here, I cleared out a space for Gilbert's chair and everything! I hope you like the pasta, I tried to make it as tasty as I could, and I added all of your favorite things, and I even tried to make wurst! I don't know if it came out right, though, I'm not very good at cooking German foods, but Ludwig promised to teach me so maybe I'll get better! Ooo, and then I teach you how to cook Italian foods! How does that sound, Luddy?"

Gilbert snickers and hides his smile behind his hand as Ludwig stammers out a response. _Man, that kid really hasn't changed. I don't even need to see to tell that Ludwig's gone red and Feliciano's hanging onto his arm._

"Oi, West, are you going to feed me any time soon?"

"Have patience, bruder, I'm trying to get a plate ready for you."

"Well, hurry it up! I want to try the little Italian's attempt at mein awesome wurst."

"Fine. Open your mouth."

Gilbert lets his jaw fall open. The cold of the fork makes him flinch, but it's soon forgotten as he heady taste of the wurst pushes itself to the front of his mind. He feels his eyes widen.

"Shit, Feli, this is delicious."

"Really? Do you mean it?"

"Of course I do! This is fantastic. Ludwig, get me another forkful."

"You could try saying please, you know."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I'm awesome! Kesese!"

"It would be a lot easier to feed you if you would stop laughing"

Gilbert smirks and opens his mouth. The second bite is just as good as the first, and he grins as he swallows. Then he leans back in his wheelchair and listens to Feliciano's chatter and lets Ludwig feed him, feeling more at peace than he has in years.

 

"Guten morgen, Ludwig. What brings you here today?"

"Well, sir, I wanted to talk about Gilbert and the economy."

"Alright, but I don't see how the two are related."

Ludwig takes a seat and smiles at his boss to mask his unease. "Well, sir, I've been thinking about ways to boost our economy, as well as ways to save mein bruder. I think I've found a solution that will greatly aid both problems."

"I'm listening."

"In the past, recessions have always been aided by wars. It is a known fact that going to war, as well as rapid militarism, is a sound way to increase profits. If we were to go to war to take a small section of land from either the Czech Republic or Poland, and claimed that small piece of land as Prussia, both of our problems could be solved within the year."

"Ludwig, the implication of what you're saying -"

"I know, no one wants to go through another war. I have thought this through, though, I promise." He takes a deep breath. "There are Prussian supporters in both Poland and the Czech Republic that want to see a unified Prussia in Europe. If we strike those areas and make it a war of defense instead of acquisition, any nation that goes to war against us will be shunned. Furthermore, we would gain a small nation state similar to the relationship between Liechtenstein and Switzerland. It would boost our economy tenfold, and in return mein bruder would be allowed to live and regain his immortality."

"Your idea has merit, I will admit that, but I'm going to need a lot more convincing before I decide to look into this further."

"I have plenty to discuss with you."

 

Roderich is unsurprised when Feliciano opens the door.

"Is Ludwig still at his meeting?" he asks.

"Si! He called a little while ago and said it was going well. Things are looking good for Gilbert!"

"Can I see him?"

"Si, he's on the couch. But . . ." Feliciano lowers his voice. "He can't see, so be careful. Tell him it's you, and let him feel for himself."

"I will. Thank you, Feliciano."

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need anything!"

Roderich makes his way across the living room and settles on the couch beside the Prussian. "Gilbert? It's Roderich."

"Roddy?" Gilbert's hands reach out toward him. Roderich guides the pale fingers to his cheek and lets them wander across his face for a moment. "Hey there. Did you miss mein awesomeness?"

"Actually, I came to see how Ludwig's meeting went. It seems he isn't home yet, though."

"Nope. Just me and the crazy Italian who hasn't stopped cooking since Ludwig left this morning. If he keeps it up, we'll have a year supply of pasta and no one to eat it."

Roderich smiles. "I'm sure Feliciano will be more than happy to eat whatever you don't. He's rather good at eating."

Gilbert grins. "Remember when you made him eat your shitty Austrian food and he cried?"

"My Austrian food is perfectly fine, thank you very much. Feliciano's palette happens to be much more refined than yours. He happens to enjoy my cooking."

"Yeah, but back then he hated it. It was the funniest thing ever, I've never seen you look so offended."

"I don't understand why you find it funny when I take offense to things. It's perfectly natural to feel annoyance or confusion when a person disagrees with me, particularly if they start crying like he did."

"No, no, you take offense at everything. If I told you that your coat didn't match your pants you would get offended."

Roderich starts to look down before he remembers that Gilbert can't see. His cheeks heat up and he crosses his arms over his chest. "I hope you know that I'm glaring at you right now."

Gilbert's grin widens. "I hope you know that I don't care."

"Why must you constantly be a pain in the ass?"

"Have you ever tried it? It's fun, pissing people off. It's so easy to do." Gilbert snickers. "It's practically an art form."

Roderich huffs and picks up the TV controller. "I'm going to watch TV while I wait for Ludwig to return. Is there anything you'd prefer to listen to?"

"Why bother asking? It's not like I can see it either way."

"It's called being polite, Gilbert, something you've never managed to do."

"Whatever. I'm totally going to lie on your lap, though."

"What - Gilbert, what the hell are you doing!"

"Was that a swear word, Roddy?"

Roderich sighs and leans back against the couch as Gilbert settles down with his head on Roderich's lap. His sightless eyes close and he exhales slowly. After a long moment, Roderich starts brushing his fingers through Gilbert's hair. The albino sighs and drifts off to sleep within minutes.

They are still in the same position when Ludwig comes home from his meeting. Roderich starts at the sound of the closing door and carefully slides out from under Gilbert's head.

"How did it go?" he whispers.

Ludwig leads him upstairs. "I think it went well. I know war isn't the best option, but . . . Roderich, I can't let him die. You understand that, right?"

"I do, Ludwig."

"Alright. It's better if you keep away for a week or so. Get involved with your government, have meetings with other people. I don't want you to get involved if you don't have to. It'll be better that way. The outcome is still uncertain."

"Do you know when?"

"Mid March."

"That's . . . soon."

"Ja, I know. It's better to move fast. I don't want them to have any advance notice of this. My troops will go in, take the land, and be done with it. I'm sure there will be protests and rebellions, but I'm confident that my troops and quell any uprisings. They've been trained well."

"Yes, I'm sure they have." He hesitates. "Does . . . Feliciano know?"

Ludwig swallows. "I don't know how to tell him. You know how he is - any mention of war and he goes running in the opposite direction."

"It'll be worse if you don't tell him. He'll feel betrayed."

"Ja, you're right, of course. I'll tell him tonight after Gilbert's asleep."

"Actually, he's asleep right now. He insisted on using my lap as a pillow. It seems a shame to move him. Why not let him sleep?"

Ludwig rubs a hand across his face and exhales. "Alright, but I'll sleep down there just to be safe. Thank you for all of your help, Roderich. I hope the next time we meet it is not as enemies."

Roderich looks down as his chest constricts. "I do, too, Ludwig. You know as well as I do that I can't promise anything." He clenches his fists at his sides. "This whole situation . . . it's not fair. I wish there was something more I could do to help."

"You've done enough just by being here."

"I'll be going, then." He turns to leave, but Ludwig calls him back.

"Roderich . . . do your best to keep Eliza out of this mess. If it succeeds, Gilbert will never forgive me for getting her involved."

Roderich laughs. "Ludwig, she's more stubborn than Gilbert at times. I have as much a chance of keeping her out of whatever war happens as anyone."

"Yes, but she's closer to you. You were married. Is there any chance that she'll listen to you?"

"Not at all."

Ludwig frowns, but nods. "I'll trust your judgment on this. Danke, again, Roderich."

"Bitte."

 

"Luddy, I made more pasta! Are you hungry? How did your meeting go? Is Gilbert going to be okay?"

Feliciano smiles as he follows Ludwig into the bedroom. He sprawls across the bed and waits for the tall German to join him. Ludwig sits on the edge of the bed, though, and plays with a corner of the blanket.

"Luddy? What's wrong?"

"Feliciano . . ." Ludwig bites his lip and turns his head away. "There might be a war."

Feliciano freezes. "Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Gilbert . . . the only way to keep him alive is to claim land in his name."

"Isn't there any other way?"

"Nein, and I can't lose him. I can't. He's the only family I have, Feliciano. He means the world to me."

Ludwig's eyes are filled with unshed tears. Feliciano sits up and wraps his arms around the German's shoulders, pulling him down on the bed. Ludwig sighs and presses his face against the pillows, hastily wiping away tears.

"It's okay, Luddy. I understand. I'd go to war for Lovino any day."

"You don't like war."

"I don't like watching people die. It's scary. But I'd do it to protect the people that I love in a heartbeat. I understand why you're doing this. I'm going to support you."

"You shouldn't get involved if you don't need to."

"Too late. I'm going to fight with you, Luddy, even if it's us against the rest of Europe. Gilbert is important to me, too, you know. I've known him a long time, as long as I've known Roderich and even longer than I've known you. I'm going to help you win this war. Don't you worry about a thing, Luddy."

Fresh tears fall as Ludwig stares at him, surprise written all over his face. "Feliciano . . . you'd do that for me?"

"Of course I would! You're my best friend, Ludwig. I'll always be there for you. You protect me; now it's my turn to protect you."

Ludwig's arms slide around his waist and yank him close. Feliciano squeals and throws his arms around the German.

"Danke," Ludwig whispers.

"Prego. Now go to sleep, you can worry about everything in the morning."

"I was going to sleep downstairs to keep an eye on Gilbert."

"No, no, you need to sleep in a bed tonight. You need a good night sleep. I'll bring Gilbert up to his room and then come back, okay? While I'm gone I want you to take a shower and get in your pajamas and lie down. Okay?"

Ludwig chuckles. "I never thought I'd see the day when you'd be giving me orders." He pushes himself up and yawns. "Fine, I'll do it your way just this once. Be gentle with him, though."

"Si! I'll be extra careful."

Feliciano jumps off the bed and skips down the stairs. Gilbert is awake, staring blindly at the ceiling.

"Gilbert! It's Feli again. I'm going to take you back upstairs and put you in bed because Luddy is very tired and needs to rest."

Gilbert snorts. "You mean he's actually letting you do something instead of him?"

"Si! He trusts me!" He scoops his arms under Gilbert's back and knees and lifts him into the air. He is lighter than Feliciano remembers, but he still struggles a little on the stairs. Once he gets Gilbert situated, he skips back to Ludwig's room and changes into his pajamas. He can still hear the shower running, so he gets under the covers and closes his eyes.

He wakes up when Ludwig slides into bed beside him, exhaustion written all over his face. Feliciano tugs him down and curls up against the larger man's chest. Within seconds, he is happily asleep.

 

Ludwig paces in front of the door as he waits for orders. His boss is inside the room, waiting on the results from the meeting held to decide whether or not they will go to war for Prussia. He clenches his hands into fists and tries to calm his ragged breathing.

 _They need to say yes. They need to. I can't lose him, I can't lose the only family I have left_.

He ends up sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, facing the door. He can see shadows as someone paces in front of the door and murmured voices as they decide on his future.

He's never been the praying type, but he bows his head now and begs whatever god will listen to save his brother and give him another chance at life. He clenches a hand around the Iron Cross pinned to his jacket - Gilbert's Iron Cross from the days of the second world war - and swallows past the unease that tightens his throat.

The door opens and Ludwig's boss walks out, face drawn and serious. Ludwig's heart jumps into his throat as he mind goes to the worst possible thought. _He's going to die. I can't save him_.

He slumps back against the wall and closes his eyes. He can feel the tears burning behind his closed eyelids. What would his boss think if he broke down in the middle of the capital building?

"Ludwig. Ludwig, look at me."

Ludwig forces his eyes open and meets his boss's gaze. "Ja?"

"Ludwig, we're going to war."

The wave of relief that washes through him is almost painful. He jumps to his feet and takes his boss's hand, tongue tied as he tries to force words out.

"Th-Thank you! Sir, I promise, this will fix everything, you'll see, I -"

"Ludwig! You sound like Feliciano with your ramblings. Come, I want you to be there when I give the order for the troops."

"Ja, sir, of course. Have you decided on an entry point? Which nation are we claiming land from?"

"Right now, the Czech Republic is our best option. This is for three reasons. One, they have less powerful allies than Poland. Two, Western Czech has the most concentrated area of Prussian supporters than any other nation in Europe, including Germany. They're least likely to put up a strong resistance. Three, there are two points of entry that will ensure a quick, almost bodiless claim of land. We'll enter in the north at Oybin and in the south at Philippsreuter. Our troops will make a line connect the two points of entry. We'll leave Prague untouched, but claim that section of land. We're hoping this will be quick and efficient. It isn't much ground to cover, and we've alerted the head of the Prussian segment of our coming. They've guaranteed a clean sweep through. The Prussian government should be instituted within a few days."

 _A few days_. He could live with that. Gilbert had survived over thirteen years on his own; surely he could survive another few days.

"That sounds like a very good plan. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"The troops trust you. I want you there when I make the announcement. They'll be surprised, but I'm hoping your presence will soothe their fears. They know your presence means you support what's happening."

Ludwig nods and follows his boss through the corridors to the basement. The top ranking officers of his army are all gathered in the largest meeting room they have. Ludwig stands off to the side as his boss steps up to the podium and announces their reasons for going to war, as well as the plan of action. There are many surprised murmurs, but Ludwig can tell that most of them are warming to the idea.

"I want troops in position by midnight." His boss takes a deep breath and faces the crowd, shoulders squared. "Tonight, we go to war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here's the second chapter. Updates on this thing are going to be SUPER FAST, probably. Have any questions, just drop a comment. I love hearing from you guys <3


	3. I Get to Live?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are kind of short.... this is just the opening, though! More angst to come in later chapters :33
> 
> Please tell me if you think the characters are OOC... :c
> 
> This is kind of a twist on my usual writing style, and I'm not sure how well it's working. So please feel free to leave comments and tell me what you think of it, any feedback would be hugely appreciated because I haven't found a beta yet

_Tonight, we go to war_.

Ludwig never thought he'd hear those words again. They replay in his head as he stumbles through the door of his house and collapses on the couch.

_I am at war. I did this. This is truly my fault this time, with no one else to blame. Everyone that dies, everyone that loses a father or a son or a husband . . . it will all be my fault. How did I think I could live with that?_

He takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes. He doesn't know how long he sits there, but after a long while his stomach starts growling. A grimace spreads across his face as he contemplates getting up.

"Luddy? I didn't know you were back! How did it go today?"

Feliciano falls onto the couch beside him and touches his shoulder. Ludwig turns and leans against Feliciano's chest, heart pounding faster as he thinks of what is happening.

"I'm at war, Feliciano," he whispers.

A gentle hand rubs across his back, easing the tension from his muscles.

"You can do this, Luddy. I know you can. I believe in you, okay, and so does Gilbert and Lovino - even if he doesn't like to say it - and Big Brother Spain and Roderich and Eliza and - and you can do this, Luddy. It's for Gilbert, don't forget that. It's to keep him alive, not because you _want_ to go to war. That makes a difference."

Ludwig nods against the Italian's chest and takes another shuddering breath. "Danke, Feliciano."

"Don't mention it, Luddy. I told you I would support you. I'm going to go home tomorrow and pack my things, because if we're going to be allies then I'm going to stay here, if that's okay."

"Ja, of course it's okay. You're always welcome here, you know that."

Feliciano giggles and hugs him. "Aww, you're so sweet! Is it okay if fratello stays here, too? He'll want to, I know, because he doesn't like to be away from me for too long."

Ludwig sighs. "Fine, but keep him out of trouble. Gilbert will need some time to recover, and I don't want anything to interfere."

"Oh! When are you going to tell Gilbert?"

"I will when we name the conquered land Prussia. I don't want to get his hopes up, in case the invasion goes wrong. It shouldn't, though. Mein boss's plan is nearly failsafe."

"That's good! How soon will we know?"

"A few days at the most. I don't know if I'll be able to sleep until we know for sure."

"I have medicine that helps me sleep. Sometimes I get nightmares, but I take the medicine and I sleep really well for the whole night! Maybe it can help you, too."

"Nein, I need to be able to wake up if something happens during the night. Danke, though."

Feliciano pushes him back up and runs a hand through his styled hair. "You look sleepy. I'll go heat up pasta! A full stomach always helps me sleep."

Ludwig smiles softly. "That would be nice, Feliciano. Danke."

"Si! I'll be right back."

 

"Now, if you look at the map, you can see the areas that were hit the hardest by -"

"Arthur."

"- the recession. The darker colors are in need -"

"Arthur."

"- of the most support, so I've marked those as priority trade partners. The lighter colors -"

" _Arthur Kirkland_."

"What the bloody hell do you want? I'm trying to give a presentation! In case you haven't realized, we're in a recession worse than the Great Depression."

"Yes, yes, we're all fully briefed on your economic recovery plan. I don't understand why you felt the need to make a map."

"It's always important to provide a visual."

"Okay, shut up! I have news."

"What news could you possibly have, Alfred?"

"Germany just invaded the Czech Republic. They're claiming a section of land as the reunified state of Prussia. Troops have swarmed over the border in an alarming number. Czech didn't stand a chance - they went down without a fight."

Alfred's statement is met by a shocked silence. Arthur gapes at him, stunned beyond words. _Please let this be a prank_ , he thinks.

"I know what you're thinking, Artie, but this is no prank. I wouldn't joke about something like this."

"I know," Arthur mutters. "I . . . God, is this really going to be another world war?"

"We don't have to get involved. I'm not getting involved."

"You're on another bloody continent, a sea away! Of course you're not getting involved, this doesn't even involve you. Europe, on the other hand . . . Germany is far too close to my borders. Bloody hell, what are we going to do about this? Francis?"

Francis starts when his name is called. He blinks at Arthur, the beginning of panic hidden in his sapphire eyes.

"Oh, hell. Francis, are you alright?" Arthur settles into the seat beside the Frenchman. "Al, give us a few minutes. I know how to handle this."

"Got it. I'll, uh, be outside or something."

"No, you go home. Don't get involved if you don't have to. I'll call you tonight, alright?"

"Gotcha. Bye!"

Arthur waves a hand in front of Francis' eyes. "Oi, answer me, you stupid Frog. I'm right here in front of you, okay?" He squeezes Francis' hand.

Slowly, Francis blinks. His eyes focus on Arthur's face.

"Arthur," he whispers.

"Who else would sit here and wait out your bloody flashbacks? Of course it's me. Are you alright?"

"Non, I . . . did Alfred speak the truth? Are we going to war?"

"Now, now, don't jump to conclusions. We need to look at the facts before we make a decision."

"Oui, the facts. Uh . . . what are the facts?"

Arthur sighs. "It's time to have a meeting with our bosses. Are you okay with mine coming to Paris? It will be a lot faster if you and I don't have to travel."

"Oui, of course he can come. I will phone my president and inform him that his presence is needed."

"Good. I'll meet you back here in an hour. Try to scrounge up some food for us, will you? And none of your nasty snails."

Francis manages to crack a smile. "I will do my best, Angleterre."

 

"Gilbert. Bruder, wake up, I need to talk to you."

Ludwig shakes his brother's shoulders and flinches when Gilbert's sightless eyes crack open."

"Bruder?" Gilbert slurs. "I . . . 'm fading fast, bruder."

"I know. Just hold on a little longer, okay? I figured out a way to save you."

"What?"

"I'm naming a piece of land Prussia. You're going to have your own land again, bruder. You're going to live."

"I . . ."

Gilbert's eyes slide closed, and he drifts off. Ludwig sighs.

"I'll come back later," he promises. "Fight, Gilbert. You can live."

 

"What kind of war are we looking at?"

"Sir, this could escalate fairly quickly if the wrong people join. I cannot sit by and watch Germany take this territory, though. It is a direct mirror of the beginning of World War II, and look what happened when we didn't fight. It led to a huge escalation of the type of destruction never before seen."

"I agree with you, Arthur. It is a concerning event, but do we need to get involved?"

Arthur nods. "I think we do. I can't stand by and watch innocent people die for their country."

"The takeover was seamless, Arthur. Not a drop of civilian blood spilled."

"Yes, but how many people will die fighting to reclaim that land? Rebellion is inevitable in this case."

"Francis, what do you think?"

"You know as well as anyone that I will do anything to avoid a repeat of the last world war. I think in this case, though, we can't stay silent. Appeasement does not work - we learned that the hard way."

"Yes, yes. I agree with both of you. I think war is our best option right now."

"Isn't that a little hasty? Shouldn't we take a few extra days to deliberate and measure the situation?" Arthur asks.

"No, no. We've made up our minds already. We'll make our declarations of war this afternoon."

Arthur nods and slowly backs from the room the moment he is dismissed, tugging Francis along beside him. In the hallway, he stops and leans against the wall as his legs shake.

"No," he whispers. "I can't live through the nightmare again."

"Angleterre. It will be okay."

Arthur looks up. Francis' smile is tight. "Do you really believe that?"

Francis sighs. "No. But I have to."

 

"Fuck that! I'm not getting involved in another shitty war."

"Lovi, please, just listen to me."

"No! Hell no! You can tell that stupid potato bastard no, because I refuse to get involved in this. It's his mess, his war, and he needs to fix this before all of Europe goes up in flames again. You know what happened last time we got involved in a world war. Scratch that, it was both times. We always end up on the losing end, and it's because we side with that damn potato-loving freak. He's not good for you."

Feliciano blinks back tears. "D-Don't say that, Lovi."

"I'll say it a million times! _He's not good for you_. I don't care that you're in love with him, or whatever. You need to get over it, move on, and forget about him."

"He's my best friend!" Feliciano yells, tears spilling over in rage. "He was there for me when _you_ weren't, Lovi, and he's never let me down, not once. He always protects me, always looks out for me - and what have you done this last decade? Run off with Antonio or Matthew every chance you got? I will fight this war, Lovino, even if I have to secede to do it."

Lovino blinks at him with wide eyes. "Feli . . ."

"Don't 'Feli' me, fratello. I don't care what you have to say. I am Ludwig's best friend, and the only family he has besides Gilbert. He needs me right now, and I won't let you stop me from helping him."

"But -"

"No buts!" Feliciano slams his hand down on the table and narrows his eyes. "What would you do if I were dying, Lovi? If I lost the use of my legs, my arms, and went blind? If I coughed up blood and spent all day in bed and had to rely on you for everything? Would you spend thirteen years of your life taking care of me and go to war to save my life?"

"I -"

"Because that's how much Ludwig loves his brother, Lovi. And I'll do anything to help him. So don't you dare try to stop me, because I will do this with or without you."

"Damn it, Feli, if you would let me talk I could say that I'm joining you!" Lovino scowls. "Jesus, you just keep going on and on without letting me get a word in."

"Oh." Feliciano sags back against the wall and stares at the ground, waiting for his breath to return to normal. "I . . . okay. Grazie, fratello."

"Whatever. I'm going to assuming you're staying at the potato bastard's house. Well, I'm coming, too, because you're not staying there without me."

"Si, fratello. I'll call Luddy and tell him the good news!"

 

Francis stares at the declaration of war in front of him as his heart pounds out an irregular beat. He hands shake as he fists them in his coat, trying to mask the trembling. Arthur paces the room behind him, making occasional disgruntled noises. The room has been tense for the last five minutes as Alfred and Matthew take in the information.

 _We are at war with Germany for the third time in a hundred years. Dieu, this is a nightmare. I must be having a nightmare_.

"Papa?" Matthew asks softly. "Are you okay?"

Francis looks up and tries to smile at the Canadian that hovers beside him. "Oui, it is just a lot to take in. I will be fine."

"Are you sure? I could stay with you tonight."

"Non, non, I should - actually, if you wouldn't mind . . ."

"Not at all, of course I don't mind. I can stay however long you need me, Papa."

"Merci beaucoup, Mathieu."

Matthew takes his hand and squeezes it gently. "It will be okay. You'll see. It always works out in the end."

"But how many years away is the end? The last one was almost six years, Mathieu. I do not think I can stand to live through that again."

"I understand. Maybe it won't turn out like that, though. You have to have hope."

"I know, Mathieu. I will try."

"Do you want me to stay, Francis? Arthur asks. "In case anything happens during the night."

"You can, but you don't have to. Mathieu is staying with me tonight."

"Oh, how nice." Arthur turns away and goes back to talking to Alfred. Francis frowns and raises an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong, Papa?"

"Non, I am fine. I will be fine."

Mathieu smiles softly. "There is a big difference between 'I am fine' and 'I will be fine,' Papa."

Francis chuckles. "Come, let us go back to my house. There is no reason for us to linger here in this room of bad news."

Arthur stands at the same time and fidgets. "Actually, Francis? Can I . . . stay at your house tonight?"

"Oui, Arthur. Of course you can." Francis offers a hand, but Arthur ignores it and heads to the door.

"Alfred, I'll call you later."

"Gotcha! I'll be up, your weird British time is like six hours ahead or whatever," Alfred grins.

"England is five hours ahead, you buffoon. France is six hours ahead."

Alfred blinks. "Wait, aren't they like right next to each other? Why is France an hour ahead? All you Europeans are so weird, I don't know how you handle it!"

Arthur rolls his eyes and tugs on Francis' sleeve until the Frenchman follows him from the room. Francis smiles apologetically at Mathieu and beckons for him to follow.

"Arthur is a little impatient," he whispers conspiratorially.

"I can hear you, Frog."

 

When Gilbert opens his eyes, he is met by the same blackness. His chest tightens; had he dreamed it all? Had Ludwig really found a way to save him, or had it all been in his imagination?

"Are you awake?"

"Roddy?" he whispers. "I . . . I had the strangest dream."

Roderich chuckles softly and brushes his fingers through Gilbert's hair. The albino sighs and leans into the touch.

"What was it about?" Roderich asks.

"I . . . I thought Ludwig came in and told me I was going to live." He forces a weak laugh past his cracked lips. "Weird, right?"

Roderich laughs again. "Gilbert, that wasn't a dream."

"Wh-What do you mean?"

"You're really going to live. Ludwig found a way to keep you alive and make you immortal."

"You're . . . you're joking."

"I'm not joking. I promise, Gilbert. I wouldn't joke about something like this."

"I . . ."

Roderich squeezes his hand and touches his cheek. "You're going to live."

"N-No. I'm not. I still . . . still feel like I'm going to . . . to . . ."

Roderich settles on the bed beside him and wraps his arms around the albino's waist. "Shh," he murmurs. "It's alright. I promise, you're going to live. I promise. You're not going to die."

Tears build up in Gilbert's blank eyes. Roderich brushes them away with gentle fingers and tightens his arm around Gilbert's waist.

"Shh," he whispers again. "Don't cry."

"I get to live?" Gilbert whimpers.

"Ja. You're going to live. You'll get to spend Easter with Ludwig, and Halloween terrorizing the children, and Christmas with Ludwig, and probably Feliciano, if I know the Italian as well as I think I do." Roderich realizes that he's babbling, but the crushing wave of relief that is flooding through him makes him not care. "You'll get see the new year, and your eyes will heal. You'll be able to walk and watch the sunset and go work in the garden with Ludwig again."

"Oh, God." Gilbert chokes back a sob and shoves his face against Roderich's chest. His shoulders shake as his fists clench in Roderich's shirt. "I'm . . . oh, God, I can feel it . . . my land . . ."

"I told you," Roderich whispers. "I told you. You're going to live."

"I . . . I have people . . ." Gilbert's head shoots up. "R-Roderich . . . I can see again!" Crimson eyes meet violet eyes, relief and happiness reflected back at each other. Roderich clutches the albino tighter to his chest as tears spill over and trail wet stains across his cheeks.

"You're going to live," he whispers.

"I . . . I'm going to live. Gott, I'm not going to die. I'm _not going to die_."

A laugh bubbles up in Roderich's throat. "No, you're not. You're going to live. I promised, Gilbert. I promised you would live, and Ludwig did it. He made it happen."

"Where is he?" Gilbert wipes a hand across his eyes, scrubbing away the tears. "I-I want to talk to mein bruder."

"He's in a meeting right now. He'll be busy for a few days, doing paperwork and appointing your leaders. You should rest, keep up your strength. You'll need it."

Gilbert nods and settles down against Roderich's shoulder. "I . . . will you sing something? I don't remember the last time I heard you sing."

"Ja, Gilbert. Anything in particular?"

Gilbert's pale skin reddens. "Edelweiss?"

Roderich chuckles. "I can do that." He leans back against the headboard and tucks Gilbert closer. "Edelweiss, edelweiss, every morning you greet me. Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me."

His soft voice fills the room as Gilbert nestles closer to the brunette, feeling safer than he has in years. He lets the lyrics of the old song lull him to sleep as his new people rejoice.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever."

 

Arthur slams his glass down on the counter. "Another . . . whatsit, whatever it's called."

"Beer?"

"Yes, that, that despicable German thing. I hate Germans, you know. Terrible people. All they do is start wars."

Matthew stares at him for a long moment. "Alright, I'm cutting you off."

"No!" Arthur snatches Matthew's half full beer away from the blonde boy. Then he blinks and peers at him. "Al? When did you . . . when did you get here?"

"I'm Matthew, not Alfred."

"Who?"

"Canada!"

"Right, right, the one that looks like what's-his-face. Where's your penguin?"

Matthew sighs. "Polar bear. I have a polar bear. And he already went to bed over an hour ago."

"An hour ago? Bloody hell, what time is it?"

"One in the morning. You know, I really think you've had enough."

"No! Don't take my drink!" Arthur presses the bottle to his lips and chugs down the rest of the bottle. "I need to . . . need to relax . . . or something. Where'd the pervert go?"

"Papa went to bed when we got home. Arthur, come on, I'm taking you up to bed."

Arthur's eyes narrow, and he waves his hand at Matthew. "S'not very . . . proper . . . 'm your father."

"Arthur! If you weren't so drunk I would laugh at that, but right now you just need to sleep. Come on."

Arthur squeaks as Matthew lifts him easily. He flails for a moment as the room tilts dangerously around him, and then clutches Matthew's shoulders when his eyes droop. He barely registers the two flights of stairs they walk up before Arthur is tossed onto a bed. He curls up and yawns.

"Angleterre, you reek of bed."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Arthur flails his arms. "What the hell are you doing in my bed."

"This my bed, Angleterre. You're drunk. What exactly are you doing here."

"The . . . the blond lad . . . the one with the penguin - or was it a polar bear? - he carried me and . . . I don't remember . . ."

Francis sighs. "Fine, you can stay here, but only because I think you're too drunk to find your own room."

"Oi! I resent that, bloody Frog. I can hold my liquor better than anyone, I'm the bloody United Kingdom!"

"Oui, oui, whatever you say. I would like to sleep, you know, so if you could kindly pass out."

Arthur yawns again and curls closer to Francis. "You were . . . you were scared."

"Weren't you?"

"C'mere. Bloody Frog." He manages to wrap his hands around Francis' wrists and yanks the Frenchman forward against his chest. "'m gonna . . . gonna protect . . ."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Angleterre," Francis says softly.

Arthur opens his mouth to respond, but the darkness swallows him.


	4. Give Me Protection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, a little bit of late clarification.
> 
> In order to make this fanfic possible, I twisted some of the events of the 90s and early 2000s - the Soviety Union fell, the Cold War ended, but there was no fighting past that. The world went into an economic downturn worse than the Great Depression, and countries around the world are struggling to recover. There are also many descendants of Prussian people living scattered across the Czech Republic and Poland that are clamoring to have their own nation again and that resent the Allies for dissolving Prussia in the first place. That's why Germany invades Czech.
> 
> History lesson over! :33

Toris shudders as Ivan's fingertips trace across his skin.

"Hello, Lithuania. I am very happy you could make it today."

"H-Hello, Ivan," Toris stammers. "Is . . . where is everyone?"

"They are in the dining room. But you would like some time alone with Ivan, da?"

"N-No! I . . . I'm . . . in a hurry." Ivan's hands slide across his hips and he flinches again. "Matters a-at h-h-home . . ."

Ivan pulls back and smiles his sickeningly sweet smile. Toris gulps and takes a step back.

"Of course, Toris. But you will come and visit me soon, da?"

"I-If I h-have time." Toris swallows.

"Alright." Ivan's smile widens and Toris takes another step back. His eyes scan the room for something to hide behind.

"Toris! Like, long time no see!"

Toris holds back a sob of relief as Feliks saunters in the room, dressed head to toe in pink. He rushes over to the effeminate man's side and away from Ivan.

"Feliks!" he exclaims. "How are you?"

"I'd, like, be _so_ much better if you would come visit me. Like, seriously, where the hell have you been?"

"I've been around," Toris mumbles as they skirt past Ivan and make their way into the dining room. He takes a hesitant seat between Katyusha and Feliks. Ivan takes his customary seat at the head of the table, between Natalia and Eduard.

"Hello, friends," Ivan says sweetly. "As I'm sure you all know, war has come again to Europe. I would like to invite all of you to seek shelter at my house. You would, of course, be under Russian protection should the worst happen."

"Why the hell would we do that?" Feliks demands with a toss of his hair. "You're, like, such a psychopath."

Natalia's knife glimmers under the dining room light. "Watch how you speak to my brother," she hisses.

"Relax, сестра, I'm sure he meant no harm. We will let him keep his tongue today, da?"

Natalia sheathes her knife with a reluctant huff.

"That just proves my point! You're worse than a psychopath - you should, like, be committed or something. How the hell have you, like, survived this long?"

"I am far stronger than you realize, Poland. Now, I have made arrangements with your bosses. You will all be spending the night here! I have made your old rooms ready. Poland, you will be sleeping in the same room as my Lithuanian." Ivan's eyes flash. "If you touch him, you will never see the light of day again." Then he smiles. "Estonia and Latvia will share are room, and Katyusha will share with Belarus."

Natalia flinches. "Call me Natalia, we are closer than that."

Ivan continues as if he didn't hear her. "You will have the night to decide whether or not you want my protection. Keep in mind that I will only offer once. After that, I take what I want, when I want. Sleep well, da?"

The chills remain on Toris' skin long after Ivan leaves.

 

Feliks falls onto his bed with a muffled _thump_ , arm thrown over his eyes to block out the horrid mansion around him. Seriously, had Ivan _never_ heard of interior decorating?

"Feliks?"

He raises his head an stares at the adorable Lithuanian on the other side of the room. Thank God for Liet, because Feliks isn't sure he'd be able to survive another night on his own in Ivan's creepy-ass ice palace. He props himself up on his elbow and flashes a flirty smile at Toris.

"Want to sleep with me tonight?" He winks, and giggles when Toris turns bright pink.

"I . . . I-I w-was . . ."

"Liet, relax! I'm only kidding. I mean, like, if you want to, that'd be _totally_ okay with me."

Toris flushes a darker pink. "A-Actually . . . kind of. I-I'm scared to be back here, Feliks."

"Yeah, it's scary. I'm, like, half expecting him to call you down to his study or something like that."

Toris flinches. Feliks bites his lips and holds his arms out. The Lithuanian stumbles forward and slumps against Feliks' chest, trembling. Feliks rubs a hand across Toris' back and kisses his forehead.

"Hey, hey, shh. I'm not going to let him hurt you."

"You can't promise that," Toris mumbles. "We have to stay here all night. He could do anything to us."

"He's not going to."

"How do you know?"

"He's trying to convince us to stay, remember? He's, like, so not going to risk it."

Toris bites his lip and hesitantly looks up. "You think so?"

"I know so. I'm totally a genius when it comes to stuff like this."

"Right." Toris giggles and smiles softly. "I . . . I'm sorry I haven't visited you. I've just . . . I don't know. There were things I had to deal with back home and I . . ."

"It's, like, totally fine. You're here now, right? That's all that matters." Feliks tightens his arms around Toris' waist and sighs, nestling against the brunette's shoulder. "Hey, hey, remember our last night here? When I . . ."

"I haven't been able to forget it," Toris whispers.

Feliks blushes. "I . . . I meant what I said, you know. I still do."

Toris sucks in a breath and shifts closer to Feliks. "I . . . I mean it, too."

"R-Really?"

"I . . . yeah."

Feliks lets out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank God, I was, like, so worried the past couple of years. When you . . . you didn't call or anything . . ."

"I'm sorry, I just . . . being here, it messed me up and I . . . I wasn't quite right when I went back home." He takes a deep breath and looks away. "I didn't - didn't think you'd want to - to deal with that."

"I could've dealt with anything if you were by my side."

"Don't say that," Toris whispers. His fists clench in Feliks' shirt. "I just . . . I wasn't okay. I didn't want you to see me like that."

"Toris, all of us weren't okay. That doesn't mean I would have left you. I love you, you know."

Toris flinches. "I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry I-I wasn't there."

"Hush." Feliks presses another kiss to Toris' forehead. "You're here now. Like I said, that's all that matters. Together through it all, just like I told you back then."

"Y-Yeah." Toris takes a shaky breath and peeks up at Feliks. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Now, we can either go find food, or sit here and make out for an hour."

Toris bites his lip as Feliks' stomach growls. They pulls back as they break into giggles, Feliks clutching his stomach and making dramatic faces.

"I guess that, like, totally answers that question." Feliks snickers and sits up, grabbing Toris' hand. "Let's go cook together! I'm, like, so hungry all of a sudden."

Toris smiles hesitantly and squeezes Feliks' hand. "That sounds fun."

 

Raivis throws himself down on his bed and hugs a pillow to his chest. He can feel the tremors work their way through his shoulders and down his arms. Soon enough, he won't be able to stop shaking. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes and he tries to force back the dread that threatens to overwhelm him.

"Raivis? Are you okay?"

"N-N-No!"

_Oh, God, I'm even stuttering now. Why does Eduard have to see me like this?_

He takes a deep breath and hugs the pillow tighter. Footsteps approach the bed and he flinches back on instinct, waiting for a pale hand to appear and drag him away. Instead, Eduard's calm eyes stare back at him.

"Why didn't you tell me the tremors were back when we were eating?" he asks softly.

"I-I d-d-didn't w-want to b-b-b-bother you." He bites his lip and closes his eyes, wishing for the floor to open and swallow him whole.

"How could you think that you'd be bothering me after everything we went through? I know it's been years, but I thought you'd remember that."

"It still haunts my dreams," Raivis whispers.

Eduard is beside him in seconds. Strong arms wrap around his waist and tuck him against Eduard's chest. He presses back against the bigger nation and closes his eyes. Warmth spreads through him wherever he touches Eduard, easing some of the tremors.

"Just try to relax," Eduard murmurs. "I'll stay here with you, okay? I won't let you be alone." His hands wander across Raivis' back, massaging away the tension.

"Thank you," Raivis whispers. He turns around and shoves his face against Eduard's neck, letting the Estonian lull him to sleep.

 

Feliciano throws his suitcase down and races up the stairs. He peeks first into Gilbert's room - Roderich is wrapped around him, murmuring words too quiet for Feliciano to hear - before sneaking over to Ludwig's room. He made sure to arrive extra early, hoping to catch Ludwig while he's sleeping.

Ludwig doesn't stir when he enters, walking on tip toes to make as little noise as he can. He stops just next to the bed and watches Ludwig's expression. In his sleep, Ludwig always looks happier. Feliciano wonders what he dreams about.

He slips under the blankets and cuddles up against Ludwig's chest. The German stirs and Feliciano freezes - but Ludwig just shifts closer, one hand coming down to rest on his side. Feliciano bites his lip and presses his face into the pillow. Warmth shoots through his skin where Ludwig is touching him. He bites his lip harder when Ludwig sighs and stretches, hand sliding further up his side.

"Feliciano?" Ludwig mumbles.

"Si," Feliciano whispers, hardly daring to breath.

"Mm . . . when did you get here?"

"Just now." He rolls over, dislodging Ludwig's hand, and smiles at the tousled, sleepy expression in Ludwig's half-open eyes. "Hush, sleepyhead. Gilbert's okay, so you can go back to sleep."

Ludwig yawns so widely that Feliciano's sure his jaw is going to crack.

"Ja, sleep." His eyes close as he pulls the blankets tighter around his shoulders, a position that makes him look more vulnerable than Feliciano's ever seen him look. His stomach twists painfully as he brushes a thumb across Ludwig's cheek, making the German sigh and lean into the touch. Within seconds, Ludwig is fast asleep and tucked against Feliciano's side like he's a damn pillow.

Feliciano could lie here and watch Ludwig sleep forever.

 

Gilbert cracks his eyes open. A wave of relief, so sharp that it's painful, washes over him when the early morning sun replaces the darkness that he'd become accustomed to. He pushes himself up, arms weak and achy but still able to support him, and takes a moment to stare at Roderich's sleeping face. He's always found the musician attractive - his aristocratic style was nice to look at, when he wasn't yelling at Gilbert - but even the albino can't deny that there's something beautiful about the expression Roderich has when he's asleep. It isn't peaceful, no, but there's something about the sunlight spilling across his dark hair and pale skin that sends a shiver of warmth down Gilbert's spine. He moves closer, not thinking as he brushes his thumb across the Austrian's cheek. Roderich stirs, eyelids fluttering for a long, heart-stopping moment, but then they close again, and Gilbert is left leaning above him with a pounding heart and a strange twist in his stomach.

_What the fuck am I doing? He's asleep, I shouldn't be . . . I should just go back to sleep and pretend that this never happened_.

He shifts - closer, not away, though he really should be moving away - and hesitantly rests his chest against the musician's shoulder. Gilbert's stomach flutters painfully as he closes his eyes and inhales Roderich's scent. It's impossible to relax like this, when he's so aware of the warm body next to him, but Gilbert is past caring.

Roderich stirs underneath him and Gilbert freezes.

"Using me as a pillow again?" Roderich's voice is thick with sleep. He yawns and musses Gilbert's hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Uh . . ." Gilbert struggles for the right words. "F-Fine."

"Only fine?" Roderich chuckles as he arches his back and stretches. Gilbert's face ends up pressed against the Austrian's neck, and he has to bite his lip to stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss on the exposed skin.

"J-Ja, fine," he breathes.

He feels Roderich shiver. Goosebumps rise along the skin of the musician's neck.

"Gilbert . . ."

Gilbert pulls back - so fast that it almost makes him dizzy - and fixes a scowl to his face. His heart thunders in his chest as he forces as much attitude into his voice as he can. "I was comfortable, damn it. You just _had_ to stretch."

Roderich blinks. "I'm . . . sorry?"

"You damn well better be! I am the awesome Prussia, kesese, and you should feel special that I've made you my pillow!"

"You're heavy," Roderich says flatly. "I don't know why I bothered staying last night, you're obviously fine. I'll be leaving now, if you don't mind." He stands up and marches across the room, adjusting his clothes as he walks. Gilbert watches, swallowing past the wave of disappointment, and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

_Damn, it's good to feel them again_. He pushes himself up on his arms and takes a step forward -

And lands on his ass.

"Fuck!"

"Damn it, Gilbert." Roderich is at his side in an instant, taking his arm and helping him back onto the bed.  "Did it ever occur to you that you might have to relearn how to walk? How many years has it been since you've had the use of your legs?"

"Eight," Gilbert mumbles. "Damn it, I just want to walk on my own."

Roderich sighs. "I have some business to attend to today. Ludwig will likely be held up as well, but I can come back tonight and help you practice."

"Okay," Gilbert agrees quietly. He rubs a hand across the bruise forming on his hip and keeps his eyes down.

"Gilbert, are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be, Specs? I'm alive, ain't I?"

"Don't say ain't," Roderich says sharply. "It makes you sound like an ignorant buffoon."

"Don't be such a stuck in the mud, Roddy. It's unattractive."

"Everything I do is unattractive to you. Why should I bother?" Roderich's mouth is pressed into a thin line, and his favorite disapproving glare is fixed on Gilbert. "Do you want my help or not, because I can certainly find more productive ways of spending my time."

"Fine, fine, I want your help. Damn it, you're such a pain in the ass."

"If I'm such a pain in the ass, why do you want my help?"

Gilbert groans. "Jesus, just go back to your boring meetings or whatever. I'll be fine until tonight."

Roderich huffs and stands up. "Fine, but don't be surprised if I leave your ungrateful ass in bed for another night." He turns on his heel and marches from the room before Gilbert can respond. Gilbert stares after him, desperately wishing he could just go back to laying in Roderich's arms.

 

"Good morning, brother. Did you sleep well?"

"Da."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine."

"When shall our wedding be?"

Ivan sighs and crosses his arms. "Belarus, stop."

"Brother, I -"

"Do not make me regret inviting you here, Belarus. You are my sister and nothing more, is that clear?"

Natalia frowns and crosses her arms, mimicking his pose. "Yes, brother. Still, I -"

"I will not discuss this with you any more, Belarus. You can either keep silent or leave. The choice is up to you."

"There is no choice." Natalia flips her long hair over her shoulder and walks over to the coffee pot, shoulders stiff. "I have decided to accept your offer of protection. I shall be staying here with you."

Ivan rubs at his temples and suppresses a groan. Of all the people he would have chosen to stay with him, Natalia would have been lucky to make the list. He loves his sister, of course he does, but her constant proposals and talk of marriage drove him insane.

There was a lot that drove him insane, actually.

Ivan sets his mug down on the counter and rummages through the cabinets until he finds a bottle of vodka. It burns on the way down, sending fire coursing through his veins.

Natalia wrinkles her nose. "You should not drink this early in the morning, Vanya."

"You should not tell me what to do, Belarus. You know the consequences for insubordination in this house."

"You would not dare."

"I would dare, and for you to think otherwise is foolish. Go away - you've made your choice, you can leave now. Pack your bags, do whatever, but be warned:  if you are going to stay in my house, you will follow my rules at all times. My protection only extends for as long as I deem necessary."

Natalia's shoulders sag. "Da, Vanya. I understand."

"Good. I will see you soon, Belarus."

She flinches at the use of her nation name, but leaves the room without another word. Ivan sighs and slumps back against the wall, closing his eyes.

_They're all so tiring. None of them have what I want._

He stands up when he hears footsteps. Katyusha steps into the room, smiling sweetly.

"Good morning, Vanya. Did you sleep well?"

"Da, thank you. Would you like to join me for breakfast?"

Her eyes brighten. "Da, that sounds like a wonderful idea! Should we cook together?"

Ivan frowns. "There are a few things I need to take care of. I will join you to eat, though. You may use whatever you like in the kitchen."

Katyusha's smile slips for the briefest second. "Alright, Vanya. I will make draniki."

"That sounds wonderful." He hurries from the room, vodka bottle clutched in one hand. Toris and Feliks are coming out of their room as he passes - Toris flinches back when he sees Ivan, and clutches Feliks' arm. Ivan smiles as he steps into his study and closes the door.

_People are tiring_ , he thinks as he falls into his chair.

 

Ludwig scrambles out of bed and starts rummaging for clothes. Behind him, Feliciano cracks a sleepy eye open.

"Luddy? Is something wrong?"

"I overslept," Ludwig says. "I was supposed to be awake half an hour ago."

Feliciano disentangles himself from the blankets and puts his hands on Ludwig's shoulders. "Luddy, do you actually have somewhere to be? Or is that the time you normally wake up?"

"I . . . I may be called into the office -"

" _Ludwig_. You don't have to be awake right now. Why not go back to bed? You've been overworking yourself making sure that Gilbert lives. He's alive and he's a country again - you deserve a morning in bed."

"Feliciano, I need to be awake. What if something happens? I should be in the office, going over battle reports and meeting with the heads of the Czech-Prussian support."

"You should be in bed, resting."

Ludwig shrugs Feliciano's hands off and strips down his boxers, flinging his night clothes aside. He can worry about the mess later.

"Luddy, please. I don't like it when you overwork yourself."

"Feliciano, I will be fine. You can stay in bed as long as you like. I have to go into the office."

"You don't _have_ to."

"Feliciano, please."

"At least sit down and eat breakfast with me and Lovi and Gilbert!"

Ludwig pauses. "Ja, alright, I will eat breakfast with you. But after that I will be going into the office, okay? I have important things to do today. The war hasn't stopped just because Gilbert is a nation once again."

Feliciano's smile is soft and understanding, He pushes on Ludwig's shoulder. "Go take a shower. Take your time getting ready, I'll help Gilbert and cook breakfast."

"Ja, that sounds good. I will be down soon."

"Take your time!" Feliciano brightens. "I'll have Lovi help me cook! It'll be so much fun, oh that reminds me! Is it alright if we go grocery shopping later? If Lovi and I are staying here, we're going to need lots and lots of food to cook with, because we really do cook a lot, and now we have more people to cook for! Because I think Roderich might come stay here and help Gilbert, I saw him this morning, and they looked so comfortable and -"

"Wait, what did you say?"

"I said they looked so comfortable! Aww, Luddy, do you think they like each other? Wouldn't that be so nice if they did, especially now that Gilbert isn't going to die? They'd be so cute as a couple!"

"You said you saw Roderich this morning? Here? With Gilbert?"

"Si! He was in Gilbert's room when I came in this morning to surprise you. Why?"

Ludwig curses under his breath. "That fool. I told him not to come here. I didn't want him to get involved in the war. Now England and France will think that he's siding with me."

Feliciano blinks. "But how would they know that he was here?"

"This is a war, Feliciano. Even in the first few days, everyone has spies everywhere, especially now. I don't doubt that there is at least one person that saw Roderich come here - and one is all it takes."

"Oh." Feliciano's smile falls, and Ludwig sighs.

"It's alright, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"Gilbert will protect him!" Feliciano giggles and covers his mouth with his hand. "They really did look cute together, Luddy. Do you think they like each other?"

"It's hard to tell with them," Ludwig says. "They've been enemies and they've been friends, but they act differently in public than they do together. I think it is quite possible that mein bruder has feelings for Roderich, though." Ludwig pauses and thinks. "Actually, I think it's very likely. During the last few years, if he would get a fever, he would often whisper someone's name. He said mine a few times, as well as Eliza's - but he said Roderich's the most."

Feliciano's eyes widen. "Yay! That's happy!"

"Listen, Feliciano." Ludwig glances at the doorway and lowers his voice. "Don't say anything about this to either of them, alright? I don't think they're together - Gilbert would have told me, he can't resist bragging - and they need to figure it out for themselves."

Feliciano nods. "Si! I can do that. I won't say a word, I promise!"

"Gut. Now, I will be out of the shower soon. I will join you for breakfast in a little while."

"Yes, sir!"

 

Lovino stomps across his room and throws his bedroom door open. He can hear Feliciano's inane singing and it's only seven am. _Someone_ is going to die.

"Oi, Feli! Shut the fuck up, some of us are trying to sleep!"

He stomps down the stairs, but stops short when crimson eyes flash up to meet his.

"Oh, you're here, too." Gilbert looks disappointed. Lovino's fists clench at his sides. Damn it, he'd forgotten all about being at the stupid potato bastard's house.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Lovino demands.

"Something pretty ugly." Gilbert smirks.

Lovino's cheeks burn red. "Shut up, bastard."

"Why don't you make me?"

"Well, seeing how you're in a wheelchair, it wouldn't be that hard."

Gilbert's eyes flash, and Lovino has to stop himself from taking a step back. Damn, that bastard can be scary when he wants to be.

"Shut up," Gilbert snaps. "This isn't exactly something you should make fun of."

Lovino scowls. "Says who?"

"Fratello!"

He has a split second warning before Feliciano barrels into him and knocks them both over. Lovino swears when his head cracks against the floor.

"Feliciano, what the hell?" he yells. "You could've killed me!"

Feliciano frowns at him, half sitting on Lovino's stomach. "Lovi, that's not a very funny joke to make when Gilbert is sitting right there. You should be nicer to him, especially now that he's Prussia again! Remember all the fun we used to have with him when we were little?"

" _You_ got to have fun," Lovino grumbles. "You guys sent me off to live with that stupid tomato bastard. I never had a moment's peace with him!"

"Oh, shut up," Gilbert says. "You and I both know that Antonio spoiled you rotten. It's why you're such a brat still. Feli, on the other hand, was the sweetest little kid I've ever met - well, except Ludwig. Mein bruder was always too serious for his own good." He snickers. "Some things never change."

"Come help me make pasta!" Feliciano exclaims. He grabs Lovino's hand and all but drags him to his feet, half bouncing where he stands. "Now we have lots of people to cook for! You and me and Luddy and Gil!"

"I don't want to cook for them." Lovino's scowl deepens. "What have they ever done for me?"

"Saved your life, maybe?" Gilbert rolls his eyes. "Oh, but don't thank us or anything. It's no big deal, apparently."

"Like hell you saved my life!"

"Lovino, don't hit him!" Feliciano wails.

Lovino stops and sighs. "Damn it, I'm going back to bed."

"Ha, maybe you'll wake up on the right side of it this time."

He flips Gilbert off as he turns and stomps from the room.

 

"Vanya! Breakfast is ready!"

Ivan doesn't reemerge from his study until Katyusha's insistent voice calls him down to the dining room. He loathes family meals, always has - it's just another reminder of what he doesn't have, what he will _never_ have. His Soviet days were the closest he's ever gotten to having a family, but even that wasn't enough for him.

He takes his place at the head of the table and accepts the plate that Katyusha places in front of him. Toris and Feliks are sitting with their chairs shoved together, undoubtedly holding hands under the table. Eduard and Raivis were never that flashy, but Ivan would have to be a fool to miss the way that Raivis leans towards Eduard's side, and the way that Eduard smiles at him.

"Seems like the four of you had interesting nights," Ivan remarks.

Toris and Raivis flinch. Feliks and Eduard trade guarded glances, both shifting closer to their partners.

"We've all agreed," Feliks says slowly - of course it's Feliks, the dumb Polski has always been the only one brave enough to defy him - "we're not staying, Ivan. We don't need your protection anymore."

Ivan takes a deep breath. He was prepared for this, he knew it would happen - but it still hurts, still cuts into him and makes all the old wounds bleed.

"Are you sure about that?" He smiles his sweetest smile. "I doubt that Prussia will be content until he's ruling in your place, Poland."

Feliks' eyes narrow. "I'm stronger now than I was back then. I'm prepared."

Ivan waves his hand. "As you wish. You're free to leave whenever you like. Katyusha, should I expect your departure as well?"

Katyusha fidgets in her seat and glances at Toris. "I . . . I think I will stay, if that is okay with you."

_One of them. I can live with that._ "Of course it is okay, Katyusha. You are my sister, and you have always been welcome in my home."

"Thank you, Vanya." Katyusha's smile is pleased, but there is a layer of tension underneath that Ivan does not like. Have his siblings always been afraid of him?

They finish eating in silence. The Baltics are the first to leave, with Feliks hanging on every word Toris says. Ivan wishes he could get his Lithuanian alone for a small reunion before he leaves, but there is no chance that Toris will let the two of them be alone. So, he cuts his losses and turns his attention to tidying rooms for Natalia and Katyusha. He wants his sisters to be comfortable for as long as they stay with him.

_They won't stay long_ , he can't stop himself from thinking. _They never do. They always leave, in the end._

 

Toris is ready to leave minutes after breakfast is over. Feliks takes longer, chatting with Katyusha and Eduard, and looking far too relaxed to still be in Ivan's house. After a few moments, Toris flinching every time he hears a noise, he tugs on Feliks' sleeve.

"Can we leave now?"

"Yeah, sure. Catch you later, Kat!" He grins and waves, and takes Toris' hand as they start toward the front door. "Mind if I crash at your place tonight?"

Toris' lips turn up in a hesitant smile. "Not at all. Don't you have work tomorrow, though?"

"Yeah, but whatever. It's, like, way too stuffy in those boring offices for me."

"Feliks, you can't skip out on your duties."

"Sure I can, they don't like me anyways."

Toris stops just in front of his car and grabs Feliks' shoulders. "What makes you think that?"

Feliks bites his lip and gestures at his clothes. "The whole  gender thing. They don't get it."

"What's to get? You dress the way that makes you comfortable, and the rest is none of their business. Don't tell me they've been harassing you?"

"Nothing like that, but I . . . I don't fit in there, Feliks. And, plus, everyone's terrified that the Germans are coming for us next."

He says it offhandedly, but his eyes are tight and his smile is forced. Toris squeezes his shoulders and leans forward to press a soft kiss to Feliks' cheek.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I promise to help if you get involved in the war."

"No, don't."

Toris pulls back and blinks. "What? You don't want me to?"

"No!" Feliks exclaims. Then he sighs and rubs the back of his hand across his eyes. "I mean, like, yeah, it'd be awesome to have backup if I had to go to war. But I'd rather it be someone else. I don't want you to get hurt."

"Feliks, don't worry about me."

"I _do_ worry about you, though! Neither one of us is good at war - all you could do is suffer along beside me and watch your troops die by the thousands. The last time that happened, it nearly destroyed you. I won't let my safety be the cause of your pain."

Toris sighs. "Feliks, you have to trust me if you want to be with me."

Feliks flinches and cross his hands over his stomach.

"I want to be with you," Toris says softly. "I love you, remember? But you need to trust my judgments. As a nation, it is my decision whether or not to go to war. Besides, you know that _I_ really don't make the decision - my boss does. Is it likely we'll go to war? Probably not, but I still want to be able to protect you."

"I don't want you to hurt anymore."

"Everyone hurts sometimes, Feliks. It's unavoidable, especially when you live as long as us. But you shouldn't let that make you afraid."

Feliks looks up, eyes brimming with tears. "I _am_ afraid, though. I don't want to go to war."

"You don't have to. Not unless Germany makes the first move. I think he'd rather solidify his hold on Prussia before trying to claim more land, which means you have time to prepare your defenses. It could be months, or even years, before he tries to invade you again - if that even happens."

"It'll happen." Feliks sniffs and leans against Toris' chest. "I just don't know when."

Toris slides his arms around Feliks' waist. "Don't worry about it, okay? And yes, you can absolutely stay at my house tonight. We can even watch your favorite movie."

Feliks brightens instantly. "You have it?"

"Of course I do! It's your favorite, how could I not?"

Feliks giggles. "Tonight is, like, going to be _so_ much fun."

 

Arthur shoves his face deeper into the pillow and tries to focus on squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he possibly can. He shifts through the murky memories of the night before, face growing hotter and hotter when he realizes how stupid he act. His groan is muffled by the pillow as he curls up tighter and drags the blanket over his head.

"You ought to stop drinking so much," a soft voice says.

"Ow, my head," Arthur flinches. "Damn it, man, don't talk so loud."

"It is you who is loud, mon cher."

"Francis? Damn, so I didn't imagine that part."

"Non, you did not. Mathieu brought you to my room last night."

Arthur groans again. "Do I want to know why?"

"He thought it would be better if you had someone to keep an eye on your last night. Apparently you were so drunk that you thought Kumajiro was a penguin."

"Who?"

"Mathieu's polar bear, cher."

Arthur's cheeks redden. "Stop calling me that. It's stupid."

"Oui, but it annoys you, so I shall keep calling you it."

"Whatever," Arthur mumbles. He tightens his grip on the blankets and tugs it tighter around his shoulder. There's a chill in the room that goes straight through to his bones, sending chills all over his body. He coughs and curls deeper into the pillows.

"Arthur, cher, I think you're sick."

"What? Ow, fuck!" Arthur closes his eyes again - why had he opened them in the first place? - and frowns in the Frenchman's general direction. "Why the bloody hell would you think that?"

"You're shivering, you just coughed, and you look like you're trying to become one with the pillows."

"I'm just hung over, damn it. This doesn't mean anything."

"Arthur, I keep my house warm. There isn't a single window open. Either you're shivering for fun, or you've got a cold. How is your economy been doing?"

"A bit of an increase, thank you very much."

"Ah, that explains it. You've probably taken a turn for the worse."

"Ugh. Do you have medicine or something?"

"Oui. Do you want to stay in bed?"

"Of course I bloody well want to stay in bed! Damn it, man, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, or at least as intelligent as a bloody Frog could be."

Francis chuckles. "I will be right back, then. Try not to fall asleep, I'd hate to have to wake you up."

Arthur ignores him. After his footsteps fade, he nestles into the blankets and falls asleep.


	5. Fall Asleep With Me

Alfred groans and rolls over, shoving his face as far as it will go into the pillow. His head throbs in time with the ache in his muscles that only seems to be getting worse the longer he lies in bed. The box of tissues beside his bed has long since been discarded - though, thank God his stuffy nose seems to have disappeared, because Alfred could not imagine making the effort to walk down the hall and grab a new one - and the trash can next to his desk is overflowing with used tissues. It's a bit nasty to look at, really, but Alfred can't bring himself to care.

He curls up, tucking his knees against his chest, and tries to think through the haze of pain and cold medicine. Had his economy taken a turn for the worse, or was he really sick? He knows he should call his boss, but he doesn't think his head could handle the conversation.

The door creaks open slowly. Alfred's mind jumps to the horror movie he'd decided to watch before bed last night - why had he thought that was a good idea? - and he goes still, trying to slow his breathing. Maybe if they thought he was sleeping, they'd go away.

"Alfred?" a voice whispers.

"Kiku?" Alfred opens his eyes and groans at the too-bright sunlight that streams through his curtains. "Damn it, someone make the sun go away!"

Kiku laughs softly and sits on the edge of his bed. "Alfred, no one can make the sun go away. Just turn over; it's not so bad if you're facing me."

Alfred follows Kiku's suggestion, curling up with his head on Kiku's knee.

"My head hurts," he whines.

"I'm afraid everyone is a little out of sorts today," Kiku whispers. His fingers curl absently through Alfred's hair and the blond sighs happily. It had taken them years of friendship for Kiku to finally get over his constant wall of politeness and distance, but it had been worth the effort. It makes Alfred happy to be able to say that he knows Kiku better than anyone, even Ludwig and Feliciano.

"Economy?"

"Hai. I think you and Arthur were hit the worst."

Alfred snorts. "Dumb Brit, he's probably sick _and_ hung over."

"Why would he be hung over?"

"He spent last night at Francis' house. I wouldn't be surprised if he got drunk and Francis groped him or something. Those two need to get a room already."

Kiku sighs. "I still don't understand why you think they are together."

"Pft, you read the same manga as me. Tell me you don't ship them."

Kiku fidgets under Alfred's head. "Shipping them and believing them to be together are two complete separate ideas," he says, an edge of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "I am well aware of the distinction."

Alfred smirks and cracks his eyes open. "Oh, yeah? Is that why you're always with Eliza, trying to take pictures of everyone?"

Kiku turns bright red. Alfred giggles and pokes his arm.

"Dude, chill, I'm just messing with you. God, you're lap is comfortable. Stay here and be my pillow, 'kay?"

"I only came to check on you. I have work to do."

"Yeah? America is an awful long ways away from Japan. You never come unless you're planning on spending the night."

If possible, Kiku turns a brighter shade of red. "I . . . hai, you're right. I don't want to impose, though, if you aren't feeling well."

Alfred snorts. "Since when have you ever imposed on me? You know I love having you over. Ooo, will you watch a scary movie with me tonight?"

"Only if you sleep, first, Your eyes are bloodshot, and you look like you could use a nap."

"Maybe just a little one," Alfred mumbles around a yawn. "Damn, being sick always makes me tired. Come be my pillow, Kiku!"

"Must I?"

"I'm sick," Alfred whines.

Kiku sighs. "Hai, fine." He lies down and lets Alfred sprawl against his chest, smiling softly. "Get some sleep. I could do with a nap, as well."

"Mmm." Alfred's eyes fall shut as he starts to drift off.

 

Arthur cracks his eyes open slowly, fully prepared to slam them shut if the light is too bright. He blinks a few times, clearing the spots from his vision as he stares into the darkness. There's a warm line pressed against his back, chasing away the chill.

"Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Arthur whispers hoarsely. He clears his throat and winces at the ache. "Why is it so dark in here?"

"Black-out curtains. I thought they might be a good idea, considering that my head began to hurt, as well."

"Oh. Why am I still in your bed?"

Francis sighs. "Mathieu left, and I have no desire to carry you to a different room. This is my bed, and it isn't like we haven't shared the same bed before, so I decided to stay here."

"Right." Arthur closes his eyes again and coughs into his elbow. "I ache all over; do you have any meds for that?"

"Non, but I have something better. Roll onto your stomach."

Arthur, too tired to argue, rolls onto his stomach. He feels Francis shift beside him and tenses as the Frenchman sits across his hips. He bites his lip against the sudden wave of heat that crashes through him - but all of that is driven out of his mind as Francis' delicate fingers start massaging away the ache. He groans into the pillow and lets his achy muscles go limp as slender fingers expertly work their way across the sorest parts, soothing away the pain.

"Bloody hell," he mumbles. "Your fingers are magic."

Francis chuckles softly. "There are many things I am good at; this just happens to be something I am amazing at."

"Fucking incredible, this is."

"I'm glad you think so."

Arthur groans again when Francis  shifts his hips. Another wave of heat crashes through him, and - any other time, Arthur would be scrambling away and running for his life, but Francis' fingers make him want to never move again.

"Go back to sleep, Arthur. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Mmm."

 

Ludwig's bones ache by the time his meeting ends. He's barely inside the door before Feliciano is there, fluttering around him and asking a million question. He just shakes his head and hangs his jacket next to the door. Questions can wait until the morning - the sun has long since set, and he's been regretting not sleeping in since the moment he was swept into the first meeting.

"Luddy?" Feliciano's eyes are shining with concern. Something in Ludwig's chest constricts. "You should eat something."

"Tired," he manages to mumble.

"I know! But I made pasta, and it's already ready and everything, and you really should eat dinner before you sleep because otherwise you'll wake up really hungry, and -"

"Fine, fine."

Feliciano lowers his voice. "Grazie, Luddy." He hums softly and takes Ludwig's hand, leading him into the kitchen. Sure enough, two bowls of pasta sit side by side. Ludwig eats his without really tasting it - his mind is too busy going over countless statistics and war plans, and the endless, mindless droning he was forced to sit through. Feliciano is silent, and every few minutes he'll reach over and squeeze Ludwig's hand.

He isn't sure why, but it's comforting.

He sits back when he's done and lets Feliciano take care of the dishes. Then he forces himself to his feet and lumbers up the stairs, eyes more closed than open by the time he makes it to his room. He kicks his shoes off and falls face-first on his bed, not even bothering to pull back the covers. The cold air sends shiver dancing across his skin, raising bumps along the exposed skin of his arms. He pulls them closer to his chest and presses his face tighter into the pillow, willing himself to stay awake.

_I ought to check on Gilbert. When is the last time I spoke to him? Two days ago - but he was asleep, and I don't even know if he's okay yet_.

_I've been a bad brother_.

Something warm settles over him, and when he looks up Feliciano is tucking an extra blanket around his shoulders and smiling, expression soft.

"You work so hard, Ludwig," he whispers. "You should sleep."

"I need to check on Gilbert." He doesn't move, though.

Feliciano laughs softly. "Gilbert will still be there in the morning. Sleep now, Luddy. You need your rest, too, you know."

"Right. Ja, sleep." He yawns and curls up tighter, the blankets covering the lower half of his face. Feliciano touches his cheek and then curls up beside him - so warm, he's so warm and comfortable - and Ludwig sighs, a smiling tilting his lips up as his eyes start to close.

The last thing he sees is Feliciano's smile as sleep pulls him under.

 

Gilbert crosses his arms and keeps his eyes trained on the floor. _It isn't as if I wanted that stupid Austrian to come back, anyways. He'd probably just drop me on my ass again. Fuck, why does he have to be so pretty? It's not natural for men to be that pretty._

He can't lie to himself, though. He misses Roderich, misses feeling his arms around him when he wakes up and when he falls asleep. It's something he's become accustomed to after being sick for so long - it's the only thing he'll miss when he's recovered, when there's no reason for Roderich to touch him or soothe him to sleep. It's - distressing, to say the least - and Gilbert thinks he'd be better off if he'd never met the stupidly pretty musician. His chest aches, though, and he winces and yanks the blanket over his head.

He doesn't know how long he sits like that until he hears the door open.

"Go away, bruder. I'm sleeping."

"You look like you're imitating a ghost."

Gilbert pulls the blanket off his head and stares at the doorway. Roderich leans against the doorframe, a half smile tilting his lips up.

_Half. It's always the half smile_.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now."

"I've slept for thirteen years, almost. Now that I have energy, I want to get up and use it." Gilbert crosses his arms and flashes his best pout. Roderich's expression doesn't change, though.

"I told you I would be back, didn't I? There's no need for you to be so impatient." The Austrian crosses the room and sits on the edge of Gilbert's bed. There's an ocean of space between them, and all Gilbert can think of is crossing it.

"Let's just get this over with." He tears his eyes away from Roderich and pushes his legs over the edge of the bed. He can feel them - wiggle his toes, even - but he still can't walk.

"You know, Gilbert, it might take a few days. You heal a lot faster than humans, now, but it's still going to take some time for your legs to start working again."

"No. I have to get it tonight. I can't spend another day in this bed." He clenches his fists in the sheets. "I just - I need to _move_ , Roddy, I can't . . . you don't know what it's like, living in this bed for years. Ludwig was too scared to move me, you know, so you - you're the first person to use my wheelchair in years. That was the first time I've been outside since . . . since the day I lost my legs."

Roderich's expression softens and he takes Gilbert's hand, squeezing it gently. Gilbert clings to it and focuses on breathing. He's not crying, he's - he's - well, damn it, if he's going to cry then he's going to do it in front of Roderich, because everyone else would start babying him. Roderich, though - Roderich would understand, because he's been through the same thing. Gilbert watched him go through the same thing.

"Come on." Roderich's voice is gentle. "Let me look over your legs, first. I want to see if there's any lingering damage."

Gilbert nods and swallows past the lump in his throat. He lies back and lets Roderich roll up the legs of his sweatpants. Delicate fingers prod his legs, looking for whatever Roderich thinks he'll find.

"I don't see anything wrong with your legs," he says after a long moment. "Have you tried moving them?"

"Sort of. I can move them around the bed, or sit up, or something, but standing is still a problem."

Roderich nods and rolls Gilbert's pant legs back down. "Alright, here's what we're going to do. You're going to stand. I'll hold you stead, and you can try to take a few steps, but you have to tell me if your legs start to feel weak. Okay?"

"Alright, let's do this."

Gilbert swings his legs over the side of the bed, takes Roderich's hand, and - and he's standing, actually standing for the first time in years, and it's the greatest feeling in the world. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the relief in Roderich's eyes.

"What'd I tell you, Specs?" It's easy for his trademark snarky smile to fall back into place. "You can't the awesome me down for long."

Roderich rolls his eyes. "I'd say thirteen years is a long time."

"Can I take a step now?"

"Ja. Here, keep a hold of my hands. I don't want you to fall again."

Gilbert squeezes Roderich's hands tighter, grateful for any excuse to stay near the musician. He lifts his right leg and hesitantly steps forward, waiting for the weakness to set it.

It doesn't.

He takes another step, then another, and then - then they're stepping across the room, still holding hands and laughing - laughing, even as Gilbert stumbles and falls against Roderich's chest. Their eyes lock, and for the longest moment Gilbert wonders what it would be like to press his lips against Roderich's. Then he swallows, takes a step back - he can't, he can't let Roderich know. He forces a smile back on his lips - it's a lopsided grin, but it'll have to do.

"Look, I'm even standing on my own."

Roderich looks - looks as put-together as he always is, not a hair out of place. Gilbert swallows and takes another step back - but he stumbles and almost goes down on his ass, and then there are arms around his waist and - and, damn it, he can't let this affect him so much.

"I'm fine!" he snaps. He brushes Roderich off and regains his shaky balance. "I'm fine, damn it, you don't have to keep coddling me."

"I wasn't aware that I was coddling you," Roderich says. There's a stiffness in his voice that makes Gilbert cringe. "It was only my intention to see that you were safe."

"Well, I'm fine." Gilbert falls onto the bed and crosses his legs underneath himself. "I'll be running around in no time, just you watch."

Some of the stiffness fades from Roderich's expression - replaced with amusement, and something that looks horribly fond - and Gilbert damn near melts at the sight. Settles for reaching out to grab Roderich's hand and yanking the Austrian down onto the bed. Can actually feel a giggle bubble up at the sight of Roderich sputtering indignantly while he tries to fix his cravat.

"Come on, Specs, lose the cravat." His grin widens when Roderich fixes a pointed glare on him. "It makes you look like a stuffy old person."

Roderich raises an eyebrow. "Stuffy old person?"

"Whatever, I'm tired. My insults aren't as good."

There's that half smile again. Gilbert wonders what it'd be like to see a real smile on Roderich's face. He can't remember if he's ever seen one. His cheeks start to heat up - damn it, he can't blush, it's too _obvious_ on his pale skin. He needs a distraction, needs to change the subject -

"So how goes the war?" he asks.

Roderich sighs, the smile slipping away. "I am not sure. Ludwig is set against my joining, but I am determined to work around him. Our bosses are close, after all, and I am insistent on joining."

"Who's fighting against us?"

"Haven't I already told you this?"

Gilbert blinks. "Have you? The awesome me doesn't remember."

"England and . . ."

"And who? Damn, don't keep me in suspense like that!"

"France."

Gilbert freezes. _No . . ._ He'd thought, out of all people, that Francis would go to war on his behalf. His best friend, one of his best friends, is fighting a war to try to kill him.

It rips through his stomach, sending a wave of fresh pain through his body. He slumps back against the pillows and closes his eyes, furious with himself. There was a reason he hadn't wanted to come back to life - he didn't want to do this to people, didn't want to force them to go to war for him or fight against him. It's all he does, it seems: cause war. It's always been that way.

"Gilbert? Gilbert, are you alright?"

"Fine," he croaks. "Perfectly fine."

Gentle fingers comb through his hair and Gilbert has to stop himself from leaning into the touch. Damn it, when had his walls started slipping around the Austrian? It's infuriating, how easily Roderich can read him.  He needs to stop, needs to pull away, needs to put that space between them again.

It hurts, though.

All of it - the war that rages around his beating heart, the new land that courses through his veins and intrudes in his mind, Francis fighting against him, Roderich determined to protect him - and he isn't sure how much more he can take.

He curls in tighter, arms around his knees, and tries to breathe through the guilt that starts crashing down around him. _Damn it, Ludwig. Why did you have to save me? I was ready to die_.

That's a lie, though.

He doesn't know if he'll ever be ready to die.

With everything going on in his head, he almost doesn't feel the warm arms that settle around his waist and draw him closer. He curls into Roderich's side instinctively, fingers clasping at the shirt and clenching into it, wrinkling the fabric. Under normal circumstances he'd be amused - but for now it's all he can do to keep from crying.

"Shh. It's okay."

"It's not."

_Shit_. His voice is too tight, too close to sounding like he's breaking down - he needs to be stronger, needs to shove his emotions back into the tiny little box in the back of his mind. It's how he's survived for so long without breaking down, without going crazy from all of the things he's been through. So he shoves it all back, clamps down on the sick twisting of his gut - and lets the numbness fall back into place.

"Breathe, Gil."

He snorts. "Gil?" His voice is still too watery, but it's closer to normal.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

Roderich's voice is still too soft and understanding. Gilbert hesitates - then he pulls back and runs a hand through his messy hair.

"I'm fine," he says. He's grateful when his voice doesn't shake. "Are you planning to stay tonight, or do they need you back in Vienna?"

"I can stay if you need me."

No, no - the look in Roderich's eyes cuts straight through to Gilbert's heart. He forces his eyes away - damn it, he can't even look him in the eyes. How did it get like this?

"It's up to you."

"I think I'll stay, if you don't mind."

"Why would I mind?" He rolls over and yanks the blanket up to his shoulders. "Just don't hog all the blankets."

There's silence for the longest moment. Gilbert wonders if he's going to leave. Can't even bring himself to turn around and face the gentle understand in Roderich's eyes.

An eternity later, Roderich settles down beside him. He's a warm line against Gilbert's back, a constant presence reminding him of how easy it would be to turn around, to sleep in Roderich's arms. Whatever his feelings are, he's sure that Roderich wouldn't deny him that, not after whatever he'd seen on Gilbert's face that made him so concerned.

He keeps his back turned.

He doesn't sleep all night.

He pretends to be asleep in the morning when Roderich gets up. The Austrian hesitates a few times as he gets out of bed - brushes his fingers through Gilbert's hair and whispers his name - but Gilbert keeps pretending to be asleep, and eventually Roderich gives up. Hears the door shut - gently, quietly, as if Roderich is trying to be careful not to wake him - and opens his eyes. Lies there and stares at the ceiling and watches the slow crawl of sunlight across his roof and waits for the longing to go away.

 

Roderich barely makes it to the meeting in time.

Arrives, flustered and red-cheeked, just before the doors close. Makes the proper apologies as he takes his customary seat besides Eliza and lets out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Rough night?" Eliza murmurs.

"You have no idea," Roderich whispers back.

They don't get to speak properly until after the meeting - until after long hours of debating war causes, motivations, and weighing the benefits of joining a side versus remaining neutral - and by the time Roderich collapses onto the small hotel room bed, he's aching everywhere.

Eliza is right behind him, putting her things away like he should be doing - after all, they're going to be there for a few days - but he can't bring himself to move. The sleepless night is starting to crash around him, pulling his eyes shut and making him yawn wide enough to crack his jaw.

"Alright, spill the details. How's our favorite arrogant bastard?"

Roderich rolls onto his back and snorts. "As arrogant as ever, don't worry about that. He's regained the use of his legs, so I spent some time looking them over for damage, and then helping him walk for the first time."

"How romantic," Eliza giggles.

Roderich silences her with a look. "Eliza -"

"I know, I know. You're just friends. You can't deny that you're totally in love with him, though."

Roderich flushes and turns his head away. "That's beside the point."

"Come on, just tell me the rest of the story. There has to be a reason you look like hell right now."

"I didn't sleep well." Roderich sighs. "Things were good until he asked about the war. He shut down the moment I told him that Francis is fighting against him. I tried to help - I don't know what went wrong, though. He shut me out and wouldn't look at me for the rest of the night. It was . . . disconcerting, to say the least. I thought I had been making progress with him."

Eliza sits on the edge of the bed and puts a hand on his knee. "Roderich, the thing you should know about Gilbert . . . and he's done this since we were kids, you've got to understand - he bottles every emotion up inside until he doesn't feel it anymore. That's why he can be such an arrogant bastard. He makes himself not care about anything. It's not healthy, and it's not helping him any, but he does it because he thinks it's better than feeling." She sighs. "All the shit he's gone through . . . I don't blame him."

Roderich bites his lip. "Isn't there a way to help him?"

"He has to help himself. Roddy. The most you can do is be there for him. He's close - maybe he'll open up to you."

"Has he ever opened up to you?"

"Once, right after his dissolution. He was a complete wreck, sobbing and screaming about how it was his fault." A shadow passes across Eliza's face. "It was awful, watching him like that."

Roderich rubs a hand across his eyes and stares at the ceiling. "I just . . . it's hard to tell where I stand with him."

"It's going to be. He's a tough son of a bitch, and he's not going to open up to you. But you can't let that get you down. Especially now, he's going to need someone to stick by him and make sure he's doing okay." Eliza smiles faintly. "He never listens to me. We're too alike; that's why things have never worked out between us, So, if it can't be me, I'm glad it's you."

Roderich returns her smile. "I'm glad you approve."

Eliza laughs. "Roddy, dear, it doesn't matter if I approve or not. Gilbert is going to do whatever the hell he wants, regardless of what I have to say."

"You have a good point there." His lips tilt up higher, a hesitant smile stretching wider. "What would I do without you, Lizzy?"

"You probably wouldn't have survived this long." She flashes her best shit-eating grin.

"It's sad that you're probably right."

"What do you mean probably? I'm always right!"

Roderich rolls his eyes. "Alright, Lizzy, I think I'll be turning in for the night. It was difficult to sleep last night, wondering where I stood with him while he was right next to me."

Eliza snorts delicately. "Dear, you're just going to have to go with it. His mood can change like that." She snaps her finger for emphasis. "Will you be alright by yourself tonight?"

"I should be. Thank you, though."

"You're welcome, dear. Wake me if you need anything."

She slips into her own bed on the other side of the room and turns off the light. Roderich lies awake for a few minutes, mulling over the things Eliza told him. Then he surrenders to the exhaustion that weighs down his limbs.

 

Matthew knocks on the door and waits. And waits. And waits some more.

He tries knocking again.

"Merde," he whispers as he pulls out his phone. He dials Francis' number.

"Mathieu? Où êtes-vous?"

"Je suis à l'extérieur, Papa."

"Oh! Oui, oui, une minutes!"

Matthew waits again. He hears running footsteps - then the door is flung open and there are arms around his waist, wandering south -

"Père," Matthew warns.

Francis pulls back with a sheepish smile. "Désolé, Mathieu. Come inside, Arthur is visiting as well."

"How is he feeling?"

"Oh, you know him. He's alright as long as he's drunk. Don't worry, though, I kept him away from the alcohol for now. I'm hoping he'll last through the night, but who can say for certain?"

Arthur glances up when they walk into the kitchen. "Ah, Alfred. I thought you were sick."

"It's Mathieu. Angleterre."

"Matthew? Ah, yes, sorry, lad. You two are too bloody similar. I swear it's like you're twins."

"We are, in a way." Matthew keeps the disappointment off his face as best he can. He should be used to - he _is_ used to - Arthur forgetting him, but that doesn't keep it from stinging every time he's mistaken for his brother. Alfred this, Alfred that, it's practically all Arthur talks about when one of the twins is present. It's maddening, really, and - and Matthew has never been more grateful that his self-control is a thousand times higher than his brother's, because otherwise he's sure Arthur and Alfred would hate him by now.

"How are things in your neck of the woods?" Arthur asks as he reaches automatically for a glass. When he realizes he doesn't have a drink, he scowls at Francis. "Oi, what do I have to do to get a drink around here? I only came over because you promised me wine."

Francis sighs. "Angleterre, you do not need a drink. I only said that because I know it would get you over here faster. Mathieu has to speak to the two of us, and I think he and I would both prefer you to be sober during this little visit."

"Whatever." Arthur's scowl lightens, though, when he turns to Matthew. "Is everything alright?"

"Oui, but I wanted to tell you both this in person." He takes a deep breath. "Canada is declaring war on Germany and Prussia."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "Why the bloody hell would you get involved in this mad war when you don't have to? You could have just stayed in your little corner of the world and gone on happily without worrying about bombings and whatnot."

"This affects my nation, too, in case you haven't forgotten." There's an edge to his voice that he carefully works out. "And I have interests in seeing that this war ends as quickly as possible."

"You're a friend of Gilbert's," Francis says slowly.

"You are my family."

"Family is important, oui, but I don't want to see you torn between your loyalties."

"I have been nothing but loyal to the two of you since you first took me in. Do you have any particular reason to doubt that now?"

"Well, no -"

"Then there's no reason to." The edge is back in his voice - will they ever stop treating him like a child? He's a grown, developed nation that is perfectly capable of joining a war and protecting its own interests. "Gilbert may be a friend of mine, but my decision for war is based on what would best benefit my nation."

"You shouldn't join, lad," Arthur says.

Francis sighs again. "Angleterre, he has made up his mind. If his nation is going to declare war, there is nothing we can do but accept him as an ally with open arms."

"Bullshit! He shouldn't even be here right now, he should be back in Canada playing with his polar bear or something."

"He's not a child! Why do you insist on treating him as such?"

Arthur flushes. "I do not treat him like a child."

"Oui, you do. He is not your colony anymore, Angleterre."

"Don't you think I know that?" He slams his fist down on the table. "Damn it, Frog, I'm out of here. I'll see you at the next meeting." He turns on his heel and marches from the room without noticing Matthew standing there, eyes wide.

_Damn it_ , he thinks.

"Désolé, Mathieu," Francis says softly. "None of us are in our right minds right now. Arthur does not mean to treat you like a child. It is habit, non? We raised you." He smiles.

Matthew returns his smile. "I'm not angry, Papa," he says. "I had a question for you, though. I was wondering if I could move in with you. It will be easier for me to be involved in the war if I'm in Europe with you."

"Of course, Mathieu! You are always welcome at my house."

"Oui, I thought so." His smile turns sheepish. "I brought my things. They're outside."

Francis laughs. "Did you bring Kuma?"

"Oui, of course. He goes everywhere with me." He starts walking towards the door. "Kumakachi!"

"It's Kumajiro, Mathieu."

"Quoi? Non, I'm certain it is Kumagatchi."

Francis shakes his head. "Whatever you say, mon cher."

Matthew opens the door. Kumajiro pokes his head out from behind Matthew's suitcase.

"Food?"

"Oui! Je dois alimentaire. Venez à l'intérieur."

"Does he understand French?"

"Oui, he understands it as well as he understands English. He prefers French, though." His smile is indulgent as he picks up the bear and cradles him close. "He's a bit of a handful, but I wouldn't trade him for anything."

"Food."

"Oui, oui. Poisson?"

"Fish!"

Matthew giggles and hugs the bear tighter. "I have fish in my bag, Will you hold him while I get it out?"

Francis eyes the sharp teeth and claws. "Is it . . . safe?"

"Oui, he would never hurt you." Matthew hands the bear over with a small smile. "Kumakicchi, this is Francis."

"Who?"

"Papa."

"Oh."

Matthew digs through his bag until he pulls out the wrapped piece of fish he'd saved for Kumajiro's dinner. He takes it into the kitchen, grabs a plate, and sets it on the ground. Kumajiro wiggles out of Francis' arms and makes a beeline straight for the fish, downing it without a second thought. Matthew watches, an amused smile playing over his lips as Francis' wrinkles his nose.

"You must be tired from your flight," he says, turning his back on the bear. "You can take any room upstairs that you like. Shall I expect an extra hand cooking breakfast?"

Matthew's eyes light up. "Oui! I would love to cook with you again!"

Francis smiles. "Bon. I will see you in the morning, then." He stifles a yawn. "Bonne nuit."

"Bonne nuit, Papa!"

He watches Francis leave, and then turns back to Kumajiro. He scoops the bear into his arms, retrieves his suitcase, and makes his way up the stairs.

The first room on the left is open. He stands in the doorway and lets the memories wash over him - _Francis tucking him in and singing him French lullabies, Francis teaching him how to speak and write in French, Francis giving him toys and playing with him and teaching him to cook_ \- and smiles softly. He can't deny that he had a good childhood.

"We're home, Kuma," he whispers.

Whatever happens, he knows Francis will take care of him.

 

Alfred rubs his eyes and curls in closer. A yawn splits his jaw. Kiku smiles.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little better." He blinks his eyes open and peers up at Kiku's soft expression. His heart thuds a little faster in his chest. "Hi."

"Hi." Kiku's lips tilt up at the corners.

"How long did I sleep?"

"It is midnight."

"Damn, I didn't mean to sleep so long. That was supposed to be a nap."

"It is fine. You must have needed the sleep."

Alfred slowly pulls back and stretches out his limbs. wincing at the stiffness. Kiku sits up.

"What's going to happen, Kiku?" Alfred asks softly.

"I do not know."

"I don't want to go to war again. I don't want to go to war against you."

"There is no guarantee that I will get involved. My people would rather avoid another world war. At this point, it seems like we can be sit quietly and wait for things to happen."

"You would join the German side, though, if it came to war." He isn't sure why his voice is so hollow.

Kiku looks down. "Hai, it is likely that I would. There is a past connecting our people, and there is still much anger toward the nations of the Allied Powers."

Alfred flinches.

"Alfred -"

"Don't, Kiku. I know what you meant."

"I am not one of them, Alfred. I do not blame you."

"You should."

"It wasn't your decision to make. Being angry at you is unreasonable and irrational. I know why it had to happen, and I have accepted it."

"I hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."

Kiku's hand slides into his and squeezes. "I'm okay. See? No lasting damage."

Alfred squeezes his hand back. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

He sighs. Leans forward until his forehead is pressed against Kiku's shoulder. Takes a shuddering breath. Kiku's arms slide around his waist and pull him close, so close that he's sitting on the Japanese man's lap and cradled against his chest.

It's relaxing. Alfred relaxes into it and lets Kiku comfort him, rubbing circles against Alfred's arm.

"It's okay," Kiku whispers. "It won't come to that again."

Alfred takes another breath. "How do you know?"

"I do. No one wants to see that kind of destruction again, no matter who it's directed at."

Alfred nods. "You're right. I . . . I won't let them do it again."

"See? It's already better than it was. I promise, Alfred."

"I . . . yeah, you're right." He sighs again and clings tighter to Kiku's shirt. Kiku tightens his arms around his waist and - he nearly cries out at the relief that washes through him. It feels like heaven in Kiku's arms, and he never wants to move again.

He peeks up at the Japanese man and - and he stops thinking. Tilts his head up and watches as Kiku's lips part and then they're kissing, lips pressed together as gently as they can. Heat rushes through Alfred's body and he gasps, gasps against Kiku's lips.

How did he ever think he could just be friends with this man?

"Alfred," Kiku breathes. His eyes are wide. "Alfred, I -"

"Shh." Alfred presses their lips together again, harder this time. Their tongues twist together in an exhilarating rush that sends sparks dancing across Alfred's skin. He pulls back, far enough to press his forehead to Kiku's, and tries to catch his breath.

"Alfred," Kiku whispers again, and this time it sounds like a prayer. Alfred shivers and presses closer, needing to be closer. They fall back to the bed, limbs tangling together as they kiss again and again until they're both blushing and panting.

"Stay another night," Alfred whispers. "You don't have to go."

"My boss can wait one more day."

"Exactly."

"I will stay, then."

"Good."

They smile at each other. Kiku looks horribly fond. Alfred's heart pounds in his chest as he slides his arms around Kiku's waist and tugs him down against his chest. Kiku sighs, settles close, and curls his fingers in Alfred's shirt as Alfred's fingers comb through his silky black hair.

"This is nice," Kiku whispers. "Us . . . together."

"Yeah." Alfred's laugh is shaky. "Damn, I've been wanting to do that for a long time."

"How long?"

"Uh . . ." Alfred scrunches his nose as he thinks. "Late forties, I think."

"You . . ." Kiku stills. "Since then?"

"Mhmm. I always knew you were the one for me. I never doubted it."

"Alfred . . . I . . . I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." Alfred's hand slides from Kiku's hair to his back, rubbing some of the tension away. "I'm not . . . expecting anything, if that's what you're worried about."

"We live so far away from each other."

"I know. But there's Skype and phone calls and texting. It's not like we'll never see each other. You need to stop worrying  so much about everything. Just . . . let's just lay here and be happy, okay? We don't know what's going to happen in the next few months, or few years, so let's enjoy the peace while we can."

Kiku tilts his head up and gives him a small smile. "Hai, you are right. We should enjoy it."

Alfred kisses Kiku's forehead. "We can stay in bed all day and just lay like this."

"I would like that."

"Yeah. I would, too."

They lay, limbs intertwined, listening to each other breathe as they wait for the sun to come up.


	6. Family Dinners Are Awkward

"Alright, let's get this meeting started. Swede, take your seat." Mathias bangs his gavel for emphasis and grins at the blonde sitting next to him. Lukas just rolls his eyes and turns his head away.

"So, what do you guys think of this whole war situation?"

"I understand what Ludwig is doing," Tino's eyes are wide with understanding. "I would do the same thing to protect one of you."

"Stupid bastard," Mathias mutters.

Tino sighs. "Den, it's been almost sixty years. Are you really going to hold a grudge this long?"

"Hells yeah."

"Ignore him," Lukas says. "He's incapable of not being stupid."

"Oi! What's that supposed to mean?"

"Guys, stop fighting," Emil cuts in. "We need to figure out what we're going to do."

"We're not joining the war, of course." Mathias sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't care what the rest of you have to say - it's not happening. Not for anyone at this table."

Tino's eyes flash. "Who died and made you king?"

"Tino."

Tino sighs. Leans into Berwald's arms and closes his eyes for a second.

"I'm okay," he whispers. "I've got it under control."

"No one had to _make_ me king. It's obvious that I should be ruling all of us." Mathias stands up and slams both of his hands down on the table. "None of us are joining that war. Got it?"

"You aren't my boss, Mathias," Tino says softly. "And I will always act in the best interest of my nation, despite what you have to say."

"Tino, we're a family. We need to listen to each other."

"Den, I don't remember the last time you actually tried to listen to what I have to say. Or the rest of us, for that matter. You've been caught up in your own little world, and you spare little regard for those not in it."

Mathias' eyes widen. "Tino?"

Tino takes a deep breath and leans closer to Berwald.

"He's not wrong."

All heads turn to stare at Emil.

"Not you, too," Mathias groans.

"He's not wrong," Emil repeats. "You don't listen to us. You call this a family, but when have you ever been there for us? All you wanted to do in the past was conquer land. When we were getting conquered, what did you do? Nothing. Tino got the worst of it."

"Like hell he did," Mathias growls. "I was invaded by Nazi Germany."

"I went up against Russia," Tino says softly. "In the winter. I was forced to give up my land and a lot of that territory went towards my economy. It took a long time to recover."

"You're just saying that because you're bipolar. So what? War does terrible things to all of us, but that doesn't mean we have to let it affect us."

Tino feels the first sparks of anger jump through his veins. "Don't talk about things you don't understand." He clenches down, tries to keep the feelings away - his fingers twitch, he needs to do _something_ \- can't let him keep talking like that -

"I don't need to understand it. It's a weakness. Get rid of it."

He's out of his chair and lunging across the table before he realizes what he's doing. His hands wrap around Mathias' throat - and he screams, inside, and tries to push back the inky blackness that swirls in his stomach and chest. His fingers loosen.

He's on the floor moments later, with Berwald holding him down and whispering in his ear.

"Shh. Shh. Yer okay. Yer gonna be fine."

He shakes and clings to Berwald's shirt as the dark feelings slip away. "I . . . I didn't mean to . . ."

"What the fuck!" Mathias screeches. He rubs a hand across his throat.

"I didn't mean to!" Tino wails, the tears starting to prickle in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry . . ."

"I'm takin' 'im home. Don' bother us."

Tino clings to Berwald as he's lifted into the air. The only thing he feels now is guilt. He hides his face against Berwald's neck and waits for the tears to stop falling.

 

"Den, you should know better than to push him like that."

"How was I supposed to know he'd snap?"

"We're a family." Emil's voice is scathing, and Mathias flinches back. "Remember? Families know that kind of stuff, Den. Families know how hard to push and when to back off. And you just blew past a dozen different warning signs and forced him over the edge."

"What warning signs?"

Emil sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "There were flecks of black in his eyes. His hands were shaking, and his knuckles were white where he was holding Swede's jacket. Swede actually looked _alarmed_. If you actually bothered to pay attention to someone other than yourself, you might notice these things."

Mathias flinches and draws his knees up to his chest. "I didn't mean to push him over the edge."

"Right, because that makes a difference _now_." Emil snorts. "Asshole."

Mathias flinches again as the door slams shut. He turns and looks up at Lukas with wide eyes.

"Am I really that bad?" he asks.

Lukas sighs. "It's . . . not that you're bad, Den. You just tend to speak before you think. You end up putting your foot in your mouth."

"I just want us to be a family."

His voice sounds hollow even to himself. He curls in tighter and tries to ignore the guilt that wells up. Lukas' arms wrap around his waist as the Nordic boy leans into him.

"It's fine. It'll blow over."

"Fin's not going to forgive me this time. I pushed him over the edge. Fuck, I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." Lukas' voice is softer than normal. "You're not, Den. You just need to be a little more aware of your surroundings."

"Yeah, yeah." He leans his head against Lukas' and takes a deep breath. "Should I go apologize now or later?"

"You heard Swede. Don't bother them. Wait a few days, give it a chance to blow over."

"What if it doesn't blow over?"

"It will. It always does."

"What if it doesn't?" A note of hysteria creeps into his voice. "I can't lose them again."

"Mathias." Lukas puts his hands on Mathias' shoulders and looks into his eyes. "Are you really going to start that again? You know what happens."

Mathias takes a deep breath. "I . . . right. You're right."

"Come on." Lukas yanks him to his feet. "Hotel room. Follow me."

Mathias stumbles after Lukas. He doesn't know where they're going - can never remember the layout of the damn hotels in Oslo - and barely manages to keep himself upright. Collapses on the big bed face-down and just breathes.

Lukas settles beside him and starts massaging the tension out of his muscles. Mathias groans and sinks into the bed.

"How are you so good at that," he mumbles.

"Practice. Want me to teach you?"

"Not . . . Not right now. Too . . ." a yawn, "sleepy."

There's something that sounds like a laugh - and Mathias' heart skips a beat. Presses his face into the blankets and tries to focus on the warmth that spreads out from Lukas' fingertips. Ends up groaning and rolling over, pulling Lukas down on top of him and kissing him until they're both breathless. Then he grins and pulls him closer - it's never close enough, never - and just holds him until they catch their breath and the sunlight fades around them.

 

Tino collapses on the bed, shaking limbs unable to support him. Berwald is next to him in a heartbeat, pulling him close and running gentle fingers through his hair.

"Shh," he murmurs. "Yer okay now."

"Why does he have to act like that?" Tino whispers. "It's not . . . he should know better."

"He's an idiot."

"He's . . . he's not an idiot, he's just oblivious. It's m-my fault." A fresh wave of tears rolls down his cheeks. "I shouldn't have lost control like that, shouldn't have gotten so angry."

"He pushed you. S'not yer fault."

"I should be able to control it by now! How many years has it been?"

"Tino, forget about that.  Don' know if yeh'll ever be able t' fully control it. Nation things're more difficult than human things."

"Bipolar is a human thing."

"Not when it 'volves yer dark side like this. Humans don' have dark sides."

"Why do we have to have dark sides?"

Berwald brushes his tears away with his thumbs. "Don' know. Jus' have to deal with 'em as best yeh can."

"I'm trying."

"Know yer trying. Yer bein' so brave, Fin. Know yeh can do it."

A watery smile tilts up Tino's lips. "Thank you, Berwald."

"Don' thank me fer tellin' the truth."

He gives a shaky laugh and throws his arms around Berwald's shoulders. Hugs him tighter than is necessary - but he never wants to let go. Doesn't know what he'd do without this tall, intimidating, wonderful man in his life. Thinks he'd be a lot worse off - _knows_ he'd be a lot worse off, probably terrified and still a servant of Russia. The thought makes him shiver.

"Yeh okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay now." He smiles and presses a kiss to Berwald's forehead. "When are we going home?"

"Flight in the morning. Only one I could get."

"That's fine. I wouldn't mind sleeping a little." He twines his fingers with Berwald's and smiles wider. "There are a few . . . other things we could do to pass the time."

Berwald's lips tilt into the ghost of a smile. "That so?"

"Mmm. Let me go get washed up, and then we can take our time tonight."

As Tino steps away from the bed, he looks back at Berwald and thinks, _I really am the luckiest man in the world_.

 

"He's coming for me next. He's coming for me, and I don't know what to do. I'm not - I'm going to die this time, Toris, I'm going to -"

"Feliks, _shh_. You're not going to die. I'm not going to let you, okay?"

"You can't stop him! He's too strong, he's -"

"Feliks, _shut up._ "

Feliks swallows and nods. Leans closer to Toris and sighs when the Lithuanian pulls him onto his lap. Nestles close, head on Toris' shoulders, as he breathes past the panic that crowds his throat.

"He already has land for Prussia. Maybe that will be enough."

Feliks snorts. "When has that, like, ever been enough for him?"

"You don't need to be so cynical about it."

"And you don't need to be, like, so fucking optimistic all the time. I'm trying to be realistic. There are people in the lower regions who actually _want_ to be fucking Nazis again, so it's only natural that he's going to take me next."

"And if he does, I'll fight beside you."

"You can't stop him," Feliks whispers. "Not by yourself. Your brothers are useless here."

Toris grimaces. "I can't argue that. They're just cautious. They won't go to war unless it's absolutely necessary. They don't want to be satellite states again, and I don't blame them in the slightest."

"You'd go to war, though."

"I'd do a lot of things for you, Feliks."

Toris' arms tighten around him and Feliks relaxes a little. Lets his eyes close, and just focuses on breathing. Finally looks up - Toris' eyes are full of affection. It makes his heart pound a little faster. Can't stop himself from shifting up to kiss him - gasps against his lips at the flood of warmth and the tingles that shoot across his skin.

"Toris," he groans.

"Feliks."

Toris sounds just a breathless as Feliks feels. Their lips lock, sliding together like two pieces of a puzzle. A jolt runs down his spine when Toris' tongue touches his - it's almost enough to make him lightheaded, giddy with happiness.

"Stay the night," he breathes. "There's room in bed for you."

Toris laughs softly. "Are you implying something, Feliks?"

"What if I am?" He kisses Toris again, kisses him hard and desperate and eager. Hands find his waist and slide under his shirt - and then he's gasping, gasping into Toris mouth as a hand slips below the waist of his skirt and wraps around him.

"Alright?"

There's a grin on Toris' face - and it shouldn't be this much of a turn on. Kisses him again, tangles their tongues together, and tries to breathe through the arousal that courses through his veins.

"Please," he whimpers. "I need you."

"You have me," Toris murmurs. "Always."

Then there's a hand sliding along his length, jerking him hard and fast, and he loses the ability to speak. He throws his head back - Toris presses kisses along his neck, biting and licking the sensitive skin. He cries out, mind washing white as he spills across Toris' hand and sags against his shoulder, limbs shaking.

"Holy shit," he whispers.

Toris giggles. "That didn't last very long."

He blushes and hides his face against Toris' neck. "Sh-Shut up. I'm not done with you yet, you know."

"Oh yeah? What else did you have in mind?"

Feliks kisses the smirk off Toris' face.

 

It's a week later that Roderich finally manages to convince his government to declare war on England and France.

He slumps in his chair, near exhausted from the hours of arguing and pleading and more arguing. His bones ache with how weary he is. Eliza looks the same - slumped over the desk, staring blankly at the wall with drooping eyelids.

"We did it," she mumbles. "But at what cost?"

"I don't want to think about that now." He sits up and arches his back, wincing at the pop. "I need to call Ludwig and tell him."

"Ha, good luck with that."

"Don't remind me." He has his phone halfway to his ear already. Ludwig picks up on the first ring.

"I thought I told you not to get involved."

"Guten tag to you as well, Ludwig. Pleasant day for a war, isn't it?"

Eliza smirks.

"Don't start with me, Roderich, I've had two hours of sleep in the last three days. Why the hell would you join this war when you didn't have to?"

"Eliza and I care about him, too, you know. You're not the only one."

Ludwig sighs. "I never said I was, Roderich. This war is a dead end, though, and you know it. It's going to be hell, and I don't think I can win this."

"That's what we're here for. You don't have to fight this alone."

"I never wanted to get you involved in this. It's my war."

"It's a little too late for that, Ludwig. Eliza and I will be by tonight. I hope you don't mind us imposing on you for a while?"

"Not at all, the two of you are always welcome here. You know that."

"Danke. We'll be by in a few hours." He hangs up.

Eliza lifts her head and blinks at him. "How mad was he?"

"He sounded more exhausted. He's not sleeping."

"Well, we're going to be there soon. We can make him sleep."

Roderich snorts. "How do you expect to do that? He's a stubborn as his brother."

Eliza sighs. "I've been friends with Gilbert for a long time. He and Ludwig are very similar in their stubborn streaks. Let's just say I have a few tricks up my sleeve - things that will make them sleep, for example."

"You're not talking about drugging them, are you?"

She shrugs. "Whatever works."

"Eliza, you can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"It's . . . it's not right."

Her eyes flash. "Are you telling me that it's not right that I gave Gilbert sleeping pills when his insomnia was so bad that he physically couldn't fall asleep after four days straight of being awake? Or when Hitler committed suicide and left the two of them to rot, and they were both so distressed that it was showing in the faces of their people? I've only done it when it's the last option left. I'm not a cruel person, Roderich. You should know that."

He lowers his head. "I know. I'm sorry, Lizzy."

"It's fine, dear. We're all on edge. Come on; we ought to start packing. Do you need to bring anything from your home in Salzburg?"

"No, I have everything I need here in Vienna."

"Alright, then. I'll be back in about five hours, and then we can make the drive to Ludwig's together."

"Take your time. It will take me a while to pack."

"Of course it will, dear." Eliza looks amused as she stands up and slings her back over her shoulder. "Try not to do anything drastic while I'm gone, alright?"

"I resent that," he says stiffly. "I am a perfectly logical person."

Eliza laughs. "It's called a joke, Roddy, dearest."

"Oh." His cheeks heat up. Eliza's laugh follows her out of the room. He stares out the window and watches the clouds float across the sky, hating himself for how excited he is to see Gilbert again.

 

Gilbert takes a few cautious steps down the hallway. The muscles in his legs burn, but he grits his teeth and ignores it. The door to Ludwig's study is closed - when isn't it, really - but that's never stopped Gilbert before. He barges in and opens his mouth - and then stops. Ludwig is asleep, slumped over his desk with his head on his arms and snoring lightly. Gilbert frowns.

"Ludwig." He shakes his brother's shoulders. "Wake up."

Ludwig's head shoots up. He blinks blearily and rubs sleep from his eyes.

"Bruder? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I have to talk to you."

Ludwig's expression turns war. He gestures to the chair beside him. Gilbert sits - it's a good thing, too, because Gilbert isn't sure how much longer his legs will support him - and fixes his best icy glare on Ludwig's tired face. Part of him feels guilty - he should be thankful, really, and Ludwig's exhausted, so why is he doing this now? - but he shoves it down and watches Ludwig's lips press into a flat line.

God, he hates that expression.

"You're angry. Out with it, or I'll never hear the end of it."

Gilbert snorts. "Angry is an understatement. You started a fucking war, Ludwig."

"I couldn't let you die."

"I wanted to die."

Ludwig sucks in a breath. Gilbert cuts in - he's never going to finish if Ludwig starts interrupting, and he needs to get this off his chest before he explodes.

"I wanted to die, and I was ready to die. I knew my time was coming. Was I scared? Hell yes. Was that going to stop me? No. I'm only disappointed that I didn't die before you started this foolish war. I could have saved a lot of lives that way."

"Those lives are on my hands, not yours."

"You wouldn't have had to go to war if it weren't for me."

"Gilbert, I wanted to go to war the second they took your country. I can't -" his mask slips for a moment, and Gilbert sees the pain that flashes through his brother's eyes. "I can't lose you. You're the only family I've ever had."

"I wouldn't exactly be anyone's first pick to save."

"You're mine, bruder. You always have been. You're my first memory, and -" Ludwig takes a deep breath, cheeks stained scarlet. "I've always wanted you to be my last. There isn't anything left for me without you here."

Gilbert feels the words like a knife to the chest. He flinches back - as if putting distance between himself and Ludwig's words will make it better - and lowers his eyes.

"Why?" he rasps, voice thick with emotion. "I've . . . I've caused so much pain. I don't deserve to live."

"Bruder." Ludwig's voice is softer, now, softer than Gilbert's ever heard it. "You and I both know that what the two of us went through isn't our fault. It took me a long time to realize that. Now you need to figure it out for yourself. I promise you, though, that you are worth every second of this war."

"Jesus, Ludwig. You're fucking insane if you think that I was worth this."

"You are," Ludwig says simply. He leans back in his chair, suddenly exhausted. "And I'm not the only one who thinks that. Do you know who our allies in war are?"

"We have allies?"

"Ja, Gilbert. These people went to war knowing that they would be protecting you."

"Who?" Gilbert sits up, eyes gone wide. Who - what crazy, insane, _wonderful_ people would think him worth saving?

"Feliciano, Lovino, Roderich, and Eliza."

"Damn it." Gilbert slouches back. He should have expected. Feliciano would follow Ludwig to the ends of the Earth, and Lovino would follow Feliciano anywhere. Roderich, though - Roderich is surprising. Gilbert still isn't sure where the Austrian's loyalties lie - Ludwig or himself - but he can't bring himself to care. And Eliza, _Eliza_ \- his Eliza, the pigheaded girl who'd sworn she'd never go to war again, not after what happened in the forties. She was fighting for him, for his people and his right to live.

It's all too much to handle.

He slumps back, eyes closing as the room spins around him. A breathless laugh escapes his throat and suddenly - suddenly he's laughing, gripping the arm rests and wheezing out a laugh like he hasn't laughed in years - and, Jesus, it's probably been years since he's laughed like this. Unrestrained - slightly hysterical, but unrestrained and free.

Ludwig's worried, though. His eyebrows are pinched together, and he looks like he doesn't know whether to join Gilbert's laughter or sedate him.

"I'm alright," Gilbert wheezes between giggles. "I'm fine, I swear, I just - fuck, Ludwig, this is insane. Absolutely insane." Then he grins.

Ludwig's lips tilt into a hesitant smile. "Are you still angry with me?"

"Of course I'm fucking angry, you started a war in my name without getting my permission." He snorts. "But I'm also . . . grateful. I . . . I would be dead by now, if it weren't for everything you've done for me. Thirteen years is a long time, and I'm - I'm not sure I can repay that."

"You can by staying alive. By being the bruder from mein childhood, back when things were easy."

"I miss those days," Gilbert says softly. His fingers clench and unclench on the arm rests. "I still have the diaries, you know. Back in Berlin. Oh - why do you have me in Nuremburg? Wouldn't it just be easier for you to keep us in Berlin?"

"I was going to." Ludwig's smile slips. "I . . . for the first few months, I had so much work to do. You probably don't remember much of what happened after the wall came down. You were -" a shaky breath, "unconscious for days at a time, and I couldn't always be there for you. So I moved you down to Nuremburg. It was easier for Roderich to get back and forth from Vienna to Nuremburg, and I need his help."

"He's been coming that long?"

"Ja, he's been very helpful. I don't think I could have kept you alive this long on my own. I -" another shaky breath, "Gilbert, I'm sorry that I . . . that I couldn't . . ."

"Don't you dare. They had every right to take my nation. You know it, and so do I. Prussia's never been anything but a warring state and they were scared. You didn't see Francis after the war ended. He . . . he was a wreck, broken in more ways than one, and I still don't think that's something he'll ever recover from. Arthur was fighting tooth and nail to protect him, and Alfred was giving hell to anyone that tried to hurt either of them. And Ivan'll never forgive me for getting away from him - his vote was guaranteed." He swallows past the lump that rises in his throat. "I'm just saying . . . they were as bad off as you, and that's saying something. So don't blame them."

"It's their fault." Ludwig's voice is soft, but Gilbert can hear the dangerous edge creeping its way in. "They just decided to strip you of your status. They didn't even give you a chance to stand up for yourself."

"They didn't have to."

"Ja, they did."

"Ludwig." Gilbert sighs. "Just - drop it, okay? This is the first time I've gotten out of bed without Roddy's help, and I don't want to waste it."

"Of course, bruder. Is there anything in particular you'd like to do?"

"Nein, not really. I'd love to get back into the garden at some point, though. Damn, you really let that shit go."

"I have been a little preoccupied for the last decade or so."

"Screw that, that's no excuse for not living your life." Gilbert sighs again and cross his arms. "Alright, so tell me how our favorite little Italian is."

"Stubborn. I couldn't convince him not join the war."

"Ha, the little pasta-loving dork would follow you to Hell and back. You had to know that was coming."

"I knew, but that does not change the fact that I would rather not have him involved."

"Why?"

"He's - he doesn't do well with war, Gilbert. You know that."

Gilbert's eyebrows pinch together. "Yeah, I do."

They are silent for a moment. Gilbert stifles a yawn against his hand, hoping Ludwig won't notice - but of course he does, he always does.

"Bruder, you really should rest."

"Damn it, I've been in bed for years. Can't you all just let me have a little fun?"

Ludwig's eyes soften. "Exactly. You've been in bed for years. Your muscles need time to adjust and gain strength back. Don't push yourself. You have the rest of your life to cause problems."

Gilbert snickers. "Yeah, you're right."

"Here." Ludwig brushes papers off the couch across the room. "It's not as comfortable as a bed, but you're welcome to sleep here while I finish my work."

"And after?"

"When I'm done, we can go work in the garden, if you like."

Gilbert's lips twitch into a smile. "Ja, I'd like that." He lays down on his side, curled toward Ludwig. Watches him work for a while, until sleep finally pulls him under.

 

"Roderich and Elizaveta are coming to stay with us, Feliciano."

"Ve, how exciting! Is there anything I can do to help get the house ready?"

"Can you fix up the guest bedroom at the end of the hall? I'll get the one in the front here."

"No problem, sir!"

Feliciano salutes - with the wrong hand, of course - and Ludwig finds it horribly amusing. Stifles a smile and tries to look stern.

"Use your other hand, Feliciano."

"What? Oh! Sorry, sorry!" He salutes with the right hand this time, and - yeah, he's far too amused at this. It used to bother him, all the little mistakes Feliciano makes on a daily basis - but he's come to realize that they're not mistakes, they're just Feliciano being himself. And Ludwig has never been more grateful that this cheerful Italian is his best friend.

"Danke, Feliciano. Can you ask Lovino to start dinner?"

"Si! He'll probably make pasta, is that okay?"

"Of course. Roderich and Elizaveta enjoy pasta."

"Ve, okay!"

He bounces away. Ludwig shakes his head and turns his attention to getting the guest room ready for their visitors. It's the room next to Gilbert's, of course - Ludwig's not a fool, he knows that Roderich will take this room. He hopes that the Austrian can knock some sense into his brother, and maybe help him recover from the last thirteen years. Ludwig only wishes he could do it himself.

He can't, though.

The last thirteen years has taken a different toll on him. Seeing his brother dying . . . Ludwig is afraid of it happening again, afraid of hurting his brother too much. Roderich never saw Gilbert at his worst; he can afford to be more optimistic about the war and what will happen.

Ludwig doesn't have that hope.

He knows he can't win this war. That's why, even if he never wanted to get them involved, he's thankful for Eliza and Roderich's help. He'll do whatever it takes to keep his brother alive, because Gilbert should never have had to face death in the first place. It was only because Ludwig wasn't strong enough to protect him that Prussia was dissolved.

He finishes the room and walks downstairs. Feliciano is chatting animatedly at Lovino, who looks marginally less miserable than usual. He pauses and watches them for a moment. It's amazing, really, watching the two of them interact. Lovino can snap and yell in one breath and fix things in the next. Feliciano's at ease, more relaxed than usual - and that's saying something.

He wishes he and Gilbert could be like that.

They were when he was younger - but then he grew up and put his faith in the wrong leaders, and one fight led to another. They're too alike, both too stubborn to take defeat easily. It's been tense, tenser than he'd like to admit, since the first World War. But they'd stuck by each other, of course - they're brothers, it's what they do best. If Ludwig was going down, Gilbert was there to save him.

Now it's Ludwig's turn to save Gilbert.

He turns away from the two Italians and walks over to the window. The sun has long since set, casting shadows across his front lawn. There are headlights in the distance - Roderich and Eliza.

"Our guests are here," Ludwig calls.

Feliciano runs into the living room and joins him at the window. "Ve, I'm excited! It'll be so much fun with everyone living here!"

"Ja, fun."

”Lovi, Lovi! Is the pasta done yet?"

"Stop fucking asking, it'll be done when it's done."

Feliciano giggles. "You're so grump, but I know you're excited to see Roderich and Eliza."

"Why the hell would I be excited?" Lovino yells from the kitchen. "It's just another potato bastard and a stupid dyke."

"Lovi!" Feliciano gasps. "Don't be rude! You take that back right now."

"Why the hell should I?"

"Because that's mean! You have to be nice about things, remember?"

Lovino sighs loudly and sticks his head into the living room. "Fine, whatever. I'm sorry for calling the lesbian a dyke. Happy now?"

"Si, grazie!" Feliciano smiles widely and throws his arms around Ludwig's arm. "Isn't this happy?"

"Ja, very happy." He awkwardly pats Feliciano's head, still unsure after all these years what to do about all of the physical displays of affection. Feliciano seems satisfied, though, because he blinks up at Ludwig with bright amber eyes and smiles so widely it looks like it hurts.

"Oh!" he exclaims. "I should go open the door for them!"

He runs off. Ludwig follows at a slower pace, trying to piece together his jumbled thoughts about the war and Gilbert. He takes Eliza's suitcase almost absently, and tries to smile when she greets him.

"It's good to see you, Ludwig," she says. "It's been too long."

"I agree," he says. "I must thank you for the support you're giving me."

She laughs and waves a hand. "Don't thank me. He's my oldest friend; I'm not going to sit back and let you fight for his right to live all on your own. Besides," she adds, eye twinkling, "when have you ever known me to back down from a fight?"

Ludwig chuckles. "You have a good point there."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. He might be sleeping, but dinner is ready, so I can wake him up." He sets her suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. "There are two rooms ready for use - the first door on the right, and the last door on the left. You're welcome to either one of them."

He pauses at the top of the stairs, hand reaching automatically for Gilbert's doorknob. He's only seen his brother in passing over the last week - what is Gilbert going to say to him?

_Stop being a coward, Ludwig. Open the damn door._

He opens the door.

Gilbert is awake and sitting on the floor, stretching. He looks up when Ludwig enters.

"Bruder! What are you doing here?"

"Roderich and Eliza have just arrived. They are our new allies in war." He clears his throat. "Would you like to join us for dinner?"

Gilbert blinks. "Is it pasta?"

"Lovino cooked."

Gilbert snorts. "Ja, I'll be down in a second."

"Do you need help walking?"

"Nein, I'm fine. You go down and help Feli set up. I just want a second to finish my exercises."

"Alright. Be careful on the stairs."

"The awesome me is always careful, kesese!"

Ludwig reemerges in the kitchen. The table is already set for six. He has to stop for a moment - he's never had a full dinner table before. Feels nice, actually, to think that he has so many people staying in his house. It's almost like having a real family. A dysfunctional one, for sure, but a family nonetheless.

"Luddy! The pasta is done!"

"Sehr gut."

He lets the Italians serve it. Sits between Feliciano and Eliza and feels himself relax. He could get use to this feeling, this contentment at having the people he loves around him. Settles back in his chair and smiles.

The Gilbert appears, and it's like a stampede of cows runs through his dining room.

"Gilbert!"

Eliza's up and out of her seat in the blink of an eye. She throws her arms around Gilbert and hugs him tightly. Gilbert looks - looks surprised, of course, even Roderich looks mildly surprised - but then grins and hugs her back just as tightly, starting to laugh.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in! Where the hell did you come from?"

"I'm here to save your sorry ass, so don't get all sassy on me now." Eliza sticks her tongue out and pokes Gilbert's forehead. "Why the hell are you so skinny? Hasn't Feliciano managed to fatten you up on pasta by now?"

Feliciano's eyes get big and he looks down at his stomach.

"Oi!" Lovino yells. "Don't make my brother sad, you stupid dyke."

There are four simultaneous cries of "Lovino!" - but Eliza just throws her head back and laughs.

"This one's still got some spunk in him! Nice to see you, too, Vargas. How long's it been since you tried to hit on me, again?"

Lovino turns scarlet and scowls harder than Ludwig thought possible. "Shut the fuck up, faggot."

"Alright, that one I'll take offense at. Sick 'em, boy." She pushes Gilbert forward.

"Hey! I'm not your fucking guard dog!" He slams his fist down on the table in front of Lovino and smirks when the Italian jumps back. "Apologize to the lady, dumbass."

"Why should I?"

"Because you're living in my house, under my rules, and using my money to buy food?" Ludwig inserts smoothly. "I'm certain I could think of a few more reasons."

Lovino's expression darkens. "Fuck all of you." He storms out of the room, flipping them off in the progress.

"Fratello!" Feliciano wails. "He's not that bad, guys, he doesn't mean it, he just doesn't know how to act around people!"

"It's too easy to get him going." Eliza snorts and shakes her head. "Still, I'll apologize when he comes back, but only if he does. He of all people should know not to use that word."

Feliciano nods. "It's hard for him! He's more religious than I am so it's harder for him to come to terms with it. He really, really doesn't mean anything by it."

"We know, Feli," Eliza reassures him. "It's alright. He'll come around eventually."

Feliciano nods again, but he clings to Ludwig's arm for the rest of the night.

After that, dinner is an almost peaceful affair. Ludwig stays silent, just watching the others interact. Gilbert and Eliza carry most of the conversation, with Feliciano occasionally interrupting. Roderich also stays mostly silent - though Ludwig can't help but notice that Gilbert is able to coax him out of his comfort zone more than anyone else ever has.

It's almost midnight by the time the dishes are cleared away and the beer is brought out. Gilbert is delighted - chugs down the first bottle without abandon, much to Ludwig's annoyance, and even manages to convince Roderich to have a bottle.

By the time he finishes his second beer, Ludwig is ready for bed. He stifles a yawn as he shoves his chair back and stands up.

"I'm going to bed," he says. "I have an early morning."

"Ve, I'll come, too!" Feliciano giggles and drops his empty bottles in the sink. He sways on his feet - Ludwig barely manages to keep him upright, and they make their way unsteadily up the stairs. Feliciano is at least tipsy, though he might be full-on drunk with the way he's giggling and clinging to Ludwig's arm. Ludwig sighs and sets him on the bed.

"Luddy," Feliciano giggles. "Tonight was fun!"

"Ja, it was. I enjoy having people staying here."

"It's like we're a big family!"

Ludwig smiles at that. "It was nice, Feliciano. We should all have dinner like that again."

"Si, every night!"

"Maybe not every night. We're all going to have busy schedules, it might not be possible."

Feliciano pouts. "Then let's pick a night when we all have to get together and have dinner! And you're not allowed to miss, no matter what!"

"Alright, Feliciano." He can't resist that face. Never has been able to. Thinks - thinks for a minute, that he'd do anything to make Feliciano smile - then shakes his head and undresses as quickly as he can. Can't think like that, can't ruin his friendship with Feliciano - because without Feliciano, the world has no meaning.

Slides into bed with a lighter heart than normal and doesn't protest when Feliciano invades his personal space like he does every night. Just tucks the little Italian closer and listens to his breathing as he slowly falls asleep.

 

Gilbert is drunk.

Roderich isn't surprised, either.

Eliza disappeared about half an hour ago, feigning exhaustion as she left with a wink. Roderich had flushed and tried to ignore her - but of course it hadn't worked.

"Alright, Gilbert, come on. You should go to bed. It's late."

"Get that stick out of your ass," Gilbert sneers. "It's - fuck, what? - it's only three am, that's not late."

"It is late when you're still recovering. Come on, I'm taking you upstairs." He grabs Gilbert's elbow and tries to drag him upstairs, but Gilbert doesn't want to budge.

They make it as far as the living room before Gilbert decides he's had enough. Sprawls across the couch and tugs Roderich down on his lap.

Roderich's heart nearly stops.

Then it thuds so hard it feels like it's going to burst through his chest. Stutters - then clamps his mouth shut before he can say anything embarrassing.

Gilbert raises an eyebrow and smirks that infuriating smirk that Roderich loves so much.

"Got something to say, Specs?"

"Bed." He comes out sounding sterner than he meant to - but it's hard to think while he's sitting on Gilbert's lap. Harder to think when Gilbert shifts - _shit_ , he should _not_ be turned on by this. Has to stop himself from leaning down and claiming Gilbert's lips.

Gilbert's smirk widens. "What if I want to sleep here?"

"Then I will leave you here. I want to go to sleep in an actual bed, thank you very much."

"Aww, no fun, Specs."

"I don't have to be fun. I am _tired_."

"So am I, but I can still have a laugh."

"Yes, well, you're drunk."

"Drunk? Pft. I'm Prussian - I don't get drunk."

"I beg to differ." Roderich swallows. Gilbert keeps shifting and it's _infuriating_ and not enough, not nearly enough - but he can't. Forces himself to stand up and yanks his wrist away from Gilbert's cold grip. "You're either coming to bed _now_ , or I am leaving your ass on the couch for the rest of the night. See if you can stumble up the stairs without my help."

Gilbert's eyes narrow. "Fine, fine, I'm coming, jeez." He holds his hands out. Roderich reluctantly takes them and pulls him to his feet. The Prussian sways - then leans against Roderich's shoulder as his eyes droop. Roderich bites his lip.

"Sleepy," Gilbert mumbles. "Carry me."

"I can't carry you up the stairs. You have to walk at least that far."

"Fiiiiiiiiiiine." It's long and drawn out and makes Roderich roll his eyes. He helps the stumbling Prussian up the stairs and into Roderich's room, collapsing onto the bed. Suddenly doesn't want to move - but that has nothing to do with the fact that Gilbert's arms ended up around his waist, of course. Blushes and presses his face into the blankets - blushes brighter when cold fingers curl through his hair, far gentler than he thought possible. He's sleepy, he realizes - his eyelids are closing against his will. Somehow ends up tucked against Gilbert's side. Doesn't fight it - just pushes his face against Gilbert's neck and inhales. Feels himself relax as Gilbert's fingers keep combing through his hair.

"Shh. Sleep."

"Mm."

He's already too far gone to respond. Yawns, shifts closer a little, and smiles against Gilbert's shoulder as he falls asleep, feeling safer than he has in years.


	7. Don't Panic, I'm Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for panic attacks

He isn't sure at first why he's so comfortable when he wakes up - but then the throbbing of his head and the arms around his waist remind him, and he groans inwardly. How could he have been so stupid? Ending up in bed with Gilbert again - it's like he's _asking_ for trouble. Wishes he could move - but also doesn't want to move. Is far too comfortable to even think about moving. He's molded against Gilbert's side like he belongs there. Can feel Gilbert's quiet breathing as his chest rises and falls under Roderich's head. Can feel the fingers in his hair - as if Gilbert fell asleep while playing with his hair. His breath catches in his throat at the thought. Suddenly wants to see his face, to see what Gilbert's sleeping expression looks like -

Turns his head the slightest bit. Then a little more when Gilbert doesn't stir. Manages to lift his head up and - wow, Gilbert's expression. All the lines of his face have been smoothed out. He looks young again, Roderich realizes dimly. Looks like all the years of war and pain never happened.

It's breathtaking, really, how beautiful Gilbert is in his sleep.

Manages to lay his head back down on Gilbert's chest without waking him. He wants - doesn't know what he wants other than to stay in this moment for as long as possible. Because he knows it has to end, knows that Gilbert is going to go right back to his arrogant self the moment he wakes up - and he just wants to enjoy this small little bit of peace for as long as he can.

Gilbert stirs.

Roderich stills.

Feels, rather than hears, the yawn that escapes. Feels the hand that absently ruffles at his hair. Flushes when his heart thuds faster.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Gilbert's voice is horribly, horribly fond, and Roderich has no idea what to do. Lifts his head - Gilbert's crimson eyes are sharp this close, and Roderich loses his air. Manages to bit his lip and give a hesitant smile.

"You slept in late," Gilbert says softly. "I would've thought you'd be gone by now."

"I was comfortable," Roderich forces himself to say.

Gilbert's lips twitch into a smile - not a smirk, a real honest-to-God smile, and it's probably the most beautiful thing Roderich's ever seen. Doesn't quite manage to hide his sharp intake of breath. Gilbert raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

"Any war meetings today?"

Roderich swallows. "I . . . no, I don't believe so."

"Gut. You ought to stay in bed."

It's an offer, one Roderich doesn't know if he can say yes to. He's dangerously, dangerously close to spilling everything - but at the same time, he can't pass up this opportunity to be close to Gilbert. The Prussian's crimson eyes are soft and filled with something that might be affection.

"Alright." He's proud of himself - he keeps his voice from shaking. Swallows back the longing that starts to creep up as he lays his head back down on Gilbert's chest. The albino chuckles - his chest shakes Roderich's head, but he can't bring himself to care - and starts combing his fingers through Roderich's hair, always careful to stay away from the one flyaway curl that sticks up above the rest.

Roderich's never felt more content in his life.

Manages to close his eyes and settles closer to the albino. There's an arm around his waist and a hand in his hair and he thinks - _if only I could fall asleep like this every night_. Is comfortable, more comfortable than he's been in a long time, as a yawn cracks his jaw and makes his eyes droop. Clenches his fingers on the edge of Gilbert's shirt and smiles to himself.

Is too far gone to feel the gentle kiss that's pressed against the top of his head.

 

Ludwig's been up the whole night, almost - fell asleep tucked around Feliciano like a blanket, but woke up barely an hour later, wide awake and restless. The wide awake part hadn't lasted. Had spent most of the night pacing across his study and yawning, eyes drooped, but still unable to fall back asleep.

Feliciano peeks his head through the door. He's sleep-tousled and half-awake, and it tugs at Ludwig's heart.

"Luddy? Are you okay?"

"Ja, I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"Come with me. You need your rest."

"Nein, I have work to do." He gestures at his desk. "I'll be fine, really. Go back to sleep." He bites his lip and hopes it'll work. Of course it doesn't, though.

Feliciano frowns and fixes his amber eyes on Ludwig's. "It's six o'clock in the morning. Any work you have can wait until a more reasonable time."

"It really can't, Feliciano. It's - it's war things, I need to take care of it as soon as possible." He shifts from foot to foot and tries to meet Feliciano's gaze as steadily as possible.

Feliciano still looks suspicious. Narrows his eyes - then nods and yawns. "Come to bed soon."

"I will."

Then he's gone, and Ludwig is left to his pacing.

Gives up around seven and sits at his desk, staring at the reports until the words bleed together and his eyes cross. Manages to force himself awake - debates getting coffee, but the kitchen seems too far away - and folds his arms over the desk and rests his head on them.

He's asleep within seconds.

 

The next time Roderich wakes up, it's much later. He can tell by the sunlight streaming through the windows - it has to be noon, at least. Can't remember the last time he slept that long.

Gilbert is still in the same position - but he's awake this time. At some point his hand moved from Roderich's hair to his back, massaging gentle circles into his skin. Roderich's eyes flutter closed - he feels so peaceful, so comfortable. Never wants to move.

"Guten tag," Gilbert whispers.

His voice is lower than normal, and it sends a shiver down Roderich's spine. Lifts his head up enough to see Gilbert's face - then lays back down, shifting his head up to Gilbert's shoulder, and tucking his legs in between them. Gilbert rolls onto his side to face him. Roderich tries to smile - thinks it comes out as more of a grimace, but Gilbert seems satisfied.

"I have to get up and walk around or my legs are going to get stiff," Gilbert says softly. Runs a hand through Roderich's hair, almost absently. "I'll be back in a little while, okay?"

Roderich nods. The hand in his hair is slowly lulling him back to sleep. Is too content to care as Gilbert swings his legs over the side of the bed. Watches - just to be careful - as Gilbert crosses the room, opens and shuts the door. Then he tugs the covers up to his chin and slips back into sleep.

 

Feliciano slips in a little while later. Ludwig's still asleep at his desk, snoring lightly - and he shouldn't think it's this cute, but he can't stop the little smile that sneaks across his face. Touches Ludwig's shoulder - and wow, Ludwig must have been tired, because he normally jerks awake at the slightest touch. Can't resist running a hand through the neat blond hair - messing it up is one of his favorite things to do, Ludwig always looks so much better with his hair in his eyes, tousled and sleepy and all-around beautiful.

The German stirs under his touch and cracks his eyes open slowly. He's still more asleep than awake - Feliciano can tell by the dazed, unfocused look he's giving.

"Ludwig," he says softly. "Come to bed."

"Mmm." Ludwig's eyes close again, and Feliciano stifles a groan. Hooks his hand under Ludwig's bicep and _tugs_ \- Ludwig gets the hint and stands, half-draped on Feliciano's shoulders. Manages to get him as far as the couch before Ludwig collapses onto it, yawning and still clinging to Feliciano. Giggles a little and curls up on Ludwig's lap, blushing at the cuteness of it all. Ludwig's sleepy and disheveled and looks like he wants nothing more than to curl up and go back to sleep. So Feliciano throws his arms around Ludwig's shoulder and whispers in his ear -

"Sleep now, Luddy. It's okay."

"Mmm." Ludwig's eyes close and he buries his face in Feliciano's neck and hair. It tickles - but he stays silent, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Ludwig's grip slackens seconds later, as he falls asleep.

Feliciano hardly dares to move, too afraid of waking him up. Sits there until the sun starts to fade around them, just watching the German sleep and thinking how lucky he is to have this man as his protector.

 

Gilbert wanders down to the kitchen and starts pulling ingredients out of the cupboards at random, searching for something suitable for Roderich's breakfast in bed. He can't thank that crazy, wonderful, beautiful idiot without a proper meal.

Lovino wanders in after a while - neither of them say anything, but work side by side, both wrapped up in their individual tasks. It's almost nice, Gilbert starts to think.

Then Lovino finishes cooking. He grabs his plate and turns to leave - but hesitates. Turns back to Gilbert.

"I'm glad you're not dead," he says stiffly.

He's gone before Gilbert can even blink.

Then Gilbert's smirking and cackling to himself. He _must_ be awesome if _Lovino_ of _all people_ is glad that he's alive. Snorts as he puts the finishing touches on Roderich's breakfast. The kitchen might be a wreck, but he'd be damned if he didn't make the most awesome thank-you breakfast in the world.

Roderich's still asleep when he walks in, so Gilbert makes as little noise as possible as he crosses the room. Sits down on the edge of the bed and balances the plate in one hand and shakes Roderich's shoulder with the other.

Roderich stirs. He blinks his eyes open, violet eyes slowly regaining awareness. Gilbert's breath catches in his throat at the sleepy half-smile Roderich flashes him.

"What time is it?" Roderich asks.

"About three. You sure slept a long time."

Roderich grimaces. "Don't remind me. I'm never going to be able to sleep tonight."

"A few drinks ought to cure that, don't you think?"

"Shut up," Roderich mutters halfheartedly. "What are you holding?"

"Breakfast!" He lowers it so Roderich can see the perfect stack of round pancakes topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream. Roderich's eyebrows pinch together.

"Is that . . . for me?

"Ja, who else would it be for?"

Roderich sits up and takes the plate, eyes wide. "You made this for me?"

"It's . . . a thank you. For . . ." _Damn it, this shouldn't be so hard to say._ "For helping me. With. With all of this." He gestures around him vaguely and tries to keep the blush from his cheeks. "There aren't a lot of people who would go this far for me. I just . . , wanted to thank you properly." _Shit. Damn it. Fuck._ He bites his lip as Roderich stares first at the breakfast, and then at him.

"You don't have to thank me," Roderich says softly.

"I do."

"You don't, though. I made this choice on my own. You've . . . been a good friend, over the years, and I was upset that I could not have done more to prevent your initial dissolution." He sighs. "Think of this as me doing what I should have done all those years ago."

"You don't owe me anything. You didn't have to do this."

"I did, though. I want to help. You deserve to live."

Gilbert tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and looks away. Roderich's fingers brush through his hair.

"I mean it, Gil," Roderich says softly. "You deserve to live. You deserve happiness, especially after everything that you've gone through over the last hundred and fifty years. I wanted to help that happen, and I knew Ludwig couldn't do this all on his own. Lizzy and I have been your friends for years - it was only natural we'd want to help."

Gilbert bites his lip and tries to blink back tears. _Shit_. He's supposed to be strong now, supposed to be able to handle everything - but then, that always seems to go wrong where Roderich's concerned. He's never felt this comfortable, this relaxed with another person before. And Roderich - Roderich understands him, or at least seems to - understands the way Gilbert's brain works and somehow knows just the right things to say to reduce him to a puddle of emotions.

It should be scary, but it isn't.

Instead, it feels like being protected.

He curls up on the bed next to Roderich and watches him eat. He's delicate - almost prissy in the way he eats, which Gilbert loves teasing him for - but Gilbert can't deny that there's something beautiful about the way he moves, the way he does everything.

He's fallen so hard, he'll probably never get back up.

When Roderich's done eating, he sets the plate on the bedside table and curls up facing Gilbert. Their eyes meet - and Gilbert loses his air as he stares at the fondness in Roderich's eyes. It's enough to make his heart thud faster, and for a moment Gilbert's afraid that it's audible. Then Roderich's eyes flutter closed, and - and Gilbert really needs to stop staring. Roderich's eyelashes are a dark silhouette against his pale skin. His lips are tilted into a hint of a smile.

He's beautiful, and Gilbert can't stop himself from reaching out to brush his fingers through the dark hair. Roderich's lips part in a soundless sigh, and Gilbert stop breathing at the wave of longing that crashes down around him. He pulls his hand back and closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

Loving hurts, sometimes.

He's never understood why it has to hurt so badly.

There's an unmistakable ache in his chest, though - and if this is what he has to deal with to be in love with Roderich, he thinks it might be worth it.

Roderich is worth it.

 

It's another week later - a week of long, never-ending meetings and exhausting plane rides and no sleep - when the real war begins.

Arthur's not a fool. _Someone_ has to act first. He was hoping it wouldn't have to be him.

Two weeks of war - and nothing's happened, aside from the initial invasion. The skies are quiet; no planes, no bombs, no gunshots or tanks rolling across the border - and it's unnerving. It has to mean he's planning something, something big - and Arthur will be damned if he lets that bloody German take the initiative.  He's never been one for preemptive strikes - finds them to be the cause of more harm than good, and they rarely succeed - but he feels he has no choice this time.

He gives the order with a weighted heart.

Thinks back to the days of the Blitz - then shudders away from those thoughts. Can't bear to remember them. Takes a moment to be grateful, _grateful_ , that they're only bombing military targets.

Though, of course, there are border cities.

Not big ones, by any means - Arthur wouldn't dream of bombing major cities this early in the war when Germany hasn't even stirred - it would paint him as the villain, the one to be feared, and he has no desire to take that position in Europe, and quite possibly the rest of the world. After all, it's more than likely there will be nations - small ones, ones that fought for their right to exist - that will side with Prussia, will see it as a war of independence and not an attempt at a third world war. It's only natural. After all, Prussia's the underdog now - and who doesn't love to root for the underdog?

Shakes his head and stares out the window. It's just past midnight - his troops are deployed and ready to begin the attack. Night bombing is a part of war - he tries to rationalize this, tries to think through the haze in his mind, and then he's falling, falling -

_The night is dark and cold. He stands at his window, marveling at the beauty of his city all lit up - a sight that never gets old, no matter how many times he stands at the same window with the same view. The river is a dark spot on the horizon, winding its way through the city. Despite the late hour, people mill around the streets. It's quieter than the daytime, though, and for that Arthur is grateful. London in the day is crowded - he loves his city, but sometimes it's just too much for him._

_The first of the roars reach his ears._

_He tilts his head up and scans the sky. Is it one of his, coming back from a reconnaissance mission? He's been expecting a few back - but at the same time, fears the worst. The Germans are nearly unparalleled in their control of the air._

_Then the first bomb falls._

_Arthur watches it - it's nothing more than a speck against the horizon, but he watches it anyways - as it falls to the Earth. When it hits, a blast of pain shoots through his body and he falls to his knees, just barely clutching the windowsill to keep himself upright. More planes, more bombs - he braces himself against the wall and clutches at the front of his shirt._

_"No," he gasps, voice cracking._

_The city is falling around him._

_He can feel each death - a tiny pinprick of life, there one second and gone the next - like a gunshot._

_Fire blazes through his veins._

"Angleterre? Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine." Arthur's voice is hoarse. "I'm fine." He waves away the hovering Frenchman and turns away from the window. "Just . . . remembering things."

Francis' eyes soften in understanding. He puts a hand on Arthur's elbow.

"You did what you thought was right."

"How can this possibly be right? All those people . . ."

"It's a supply line, Arthur. There is a good chance there won't be civilian people there. And it's at night."

"Night is what worries me. Some of these pilots - they're young and enthusiastic and they might miss the target. There's a town dangerously close to the edge of the border - what if something happens?"

"You have to stop worrying about things like this. They're going to drive you crazy, one day."

Arthur snorts. "Is that your excuse?"

Francis has the decency to look mildly offended. "Angleterre, you wound me. I am perfectly sane."

"Yeah, about as sane as any of us can be after all the shit we've been through."

A sigh. "You know, you do need to sleep eventually."

Arthur turns back to the window. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Can almost feel the silence thicken. Half-turns - there's emotion storming in Francis' eyes, but he can't tell what it is. Swallows, takes a step closer - and then Francis drops his gaze and shuffles his feet. His heart jumps into his throat.

"I will be going to bed now, I think," Francis says softly. "Bonne nuit, Angleterre."

He manages to choke out a, "Good night, Frog," before the Frenchman is gone. Stifles a sigh - doesn't want to sleep, doesn't want to stay awake - and turns to the window again. In the distance, he can almost imagine that he hears the bombs falling and the roar of the planes and the screams of the dying. Something like guilt twists in his stomach and he turns awake in disgust, throwing himself into bed without bothering to change into his night clothes. But in the dark, the thoughts come unguarded - breaking into his mind and torturing him with _what ifs_ and images of the past.

Sleep doesn't come that night.

 

He doesn't expect it to come so soon.

He's standing when it hits, and - and suddenly he's down on his knees, cradling his head in his hands as the room spins around him. The beat of his heart is louder than the roar of the planes in his ears. He slumps, leaning against the bed to steady himself.

"Luddy? I - oh! Luddy! Are you okay?"

There are gentle fingers on his face. He forces his eyes open. Feliciano hovers over him, eyebrows pinched together.

"Feli," he manages to gasp. "Can't . . . can't breathe." His chest heaves with the effort of speaking.

Feliciano's eyes widen. "What's happening?"

He can't answer, though - the pain in his chest spikes and his hands shake as he tries to clutch onto something, _anything_ \- and then Feliciano takes his hands and smoothes them out and rubs circles in the back of his hands, thumbs gentle.

"Shh, Luddy. It's okay. Focus on me, okay? Take a breath."

Ludwig swallows - lets himself focus on Feliciano's face, on the amber eyes he's come to know so well - and tries to take a breath through the tightness of his chest. He sucks in air again and again, until the pounding of his heart starts to fade.

"Very good, Luddy. Keep breathing like that, okay? You're doing great."

He's not sure when he ended up against Feliciano's chest, but he's too scared to argue. He can feel the tremors shooting through his body and the strange tightness in his chest and throat - it's still there, but it's starting to lift - and he curls tighter against the smaller nation's chest. Gentle hands massage circles across his back, soothing away some of the tension.

He's not sure how long he sits like this, tucked against Feliciano's chest, until the tightness loosens. When it does he sits up - or at least he tries to, but the room tilts dangerously and he finds himself back against the Italian's chest.

"You shouldn't sit up so fast," Feliciano murmurs. "You've got to give yourself time to recover."

"What was that?" Ludwig whispers hoarsely.

"You don't know?"

"N-Nein, I've never - what the hell was that?"

Feliciano curls his fingers through Ludwig's hair. "That was a panic attack, Luddy."

"I . . . what?"

"A panic attack. I used to have them all the time back when Mussolini was in charge. It's no fun to go through them on your own, so I hope you don't mind that I stayed."

"N-Nein, I . . . I am glad you stayed." He swallows past the sudden tightness in his throat that has nothing to do with his panic attack. "I've never had that happen before."

"I wasn't sure. I think Gilbert used to get them after he was dissolved, but I know he doesn't like to talk about it."

Ludwig lifts his head a little. "How do you know, then?"

Feliciano smiles softly. "I helped him through one."

"Where the hell was I?"

"Bedridden. Dangerously ill. It was right after the war ended and Berlin was . . ."

He flinches and presses tighter against Feliciano's chest. _And Berlin was in ruins_.

He doesn't like remembering that time. Berlin is his home, the center of his nation and his life. He doesn't like remembering it broken, bleeding, and devoid of hope - the way he had been on the day he surrendered, and on the day Hitler committed suicide.

The memories rear their ugly heads and he flinches again. He whimpers - God, he's being pathetic - and nearly cries out with relief when Feliciano's arms tighten around him.

"Shh, Luddy. You should sleep. You've got to be exhausted after that."

Ludwig nods. "J-Ja."

Feliciano stands and helps him up. The room tilts again, but then he's laying on a bed, being tucked in by the Italian.

"Rest, Luddy," Feliciano whispers. "You'll feel better in the morning.

Ludwig closes his eyes.

 

He expected it to come sooner.

He's sitting when it hits, and - and then he's gasping for breath, fists clenched into the sheets until his knuckles turn whiter than his already too-pale skin.

Of course, he knew it was going to happen. He'd be a fool to think it wouldn't, and Gilbert Beilschmidt is no fool. He's just surprised that they waited so long to start.

The bombs pierce his heart like the blades of the soldiers he used to fight.

They weren't always his people, but he can still feel them like pinpricks of light on the edge of his conscience - and they're crying, fighting, struggling, dying, all in his name.

It's almost too much to handle.

Forget that - it _is_ too much to handle, way too much. His breathing is ragged, chest heaving - the room spins around him with no direction, and there's a tightness to his chest that sends the first shivers of panic through his trembling arms. The room washes white for the briefest moment - long enough for him to pray that he falls unconscious, desperate for that - then rights itself again as the bed dips beside him. He falls to the side and lands on someone's lap. He's beyond caring who sees him - Ludwig, Feliciano, hell, he'd even take Lovino if it means he doesn't have to go through this alone again.

Then there are fingers carding through his hair and a soft, accented voice whispering in his ear.

"Gilbert, you have to sit up. Remember? It's easier for you to breathe that way."

Delicate hands push him up and then pull him closer, closer, until he's tucked against Roderich's chest like a baby. He opens his mouth to protest - he's not a _baby_ , he can handle this _on his own_ \- but then his breath is sucked away as another wave of bombs hits the border.

"Shh," Roderich soothes. "You're okay. It'll all be over soon."

He doesn't realize he's whimpering until there are gentle fingers soothing out the tense muscles in his back. Another whimper - God, he's never felt this pathetic in his life, when will it _stop_ \- and then he stops fighting it. Stops trying to pull away, stops trying to save his pride. Is pretty sure his pride was trashed the moment Roderich slid his arms around his waist.

So he curls closer and lets himself be held and comforted. Lets Roderich play with his hair and whisper words that Gilbert doesn't hear while he tries to calm the beating of his heart and breath past the weight threatening to crush his chest. He sucks in air as hard as he can - then lets it all out, and if there's a shaky sob in there, well, no one but Roderich will ever know.

"You're okay," Roderich whispers again. "I promise. Just breathe, try to relax."

Gilbert takes another breath. A few tears spill over. He's still trembling, still clutching Roderich's shirt like it's a lifeline.

"Shh. It's okay."

Slowly, slowly, his heart beat slows down. The tightness loosens until he can breathe regularly again. The room stops spinning every time he tries to open his eyes.

But he keeps shaking.

"Damn it," he mutters. "I-I c-can't stop the shaking."

"That's alright," Roderich murmurs. "You did good, Gilbert. I'm proud of you."

Heat rises to his cheeks, and he has to turn his head away. Delicate fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ears and hesitate against his cheek.

"Are they bombing?"

"Ja."

"Verdammt."

Gilbert's eyebrows shoot up. "You never swear," he says before he can stop himself.

Roderich rolls his eyes. "Just because you've never heard me swear doesn't mean I don't on occasion. It usually happens when I am angry, just like everyone else."

"R-Right." His hands keep shaking, and his teeth chatter.

"Come on, you should lay down."

"N-Nein, don't want to."

"Gilbert, please. Let me take care of you."

He sucks in a breath and stares openly at Roderich. Steady violet eyes stare back, a hint of affection hidden underneath layers of guarded weariness. Gilbert swallows, nods - and he's never going to get over this feeling, this need to _touch_ , whenever Roderich's close. He settles for closing his eyes and letting Roderich tuck him into bed.

"Stay," he whispers.

"Of course I'll stay. I wouldn't let you be alone after something like that."

Wow, gratitude is merciless emotion. His breath catches in his throat, and his heart - his heart aches, aches so badly that tears trickle down his cheeks.

"Shh, don't cry." Roderich brushes the tears away with a gentle thumb. "You're okay now."

"Just come here." he breathes. Doesn't know when his voice got this hoarse.

Roderich's lips tilt up into a hint of a smile. He lays down beside Gilbert and tucks himself into the blankets. Gilbert doesn't hesitate - just curls into Roderich's arms and wraps his arms around the Austrian's waist. Thinks he hears Roderich's breath catch - but of course he didn't, he's just imagining things again. Hugs him tighter, and - Gilbert never wants to let go. Never wants Roderich to let go, because the Austrian's arms fit around his waist like they're made to be there. He shoves his face into Roderich's neck and inhales. Warmth spreads from his chest down to his toes, and his eyes start to droop.

"You can sleep now," Roderich whispers, voice far too soft and affectionate. "You're safe with me."

_I love you_.

The words stick in his throat.

His eyes close.

 

Two days later, Arthur closes his eyes and leans back against his chair. Francis sighs heavily from across the room. Arthur doesn’t have to open his eyes to picture the unease in the Frenchman’s eyes.

“Are you sure that preemptive bombing was a good idea?” Matthew asks in his soft voice. “It seems only to serve to invite retaliation.”

“It was a calculated move.” Arthur sighs and opens his eyes. The room sways for a moment as he blinks back tears of exhaustion. “The war council decided that striking the supply trains to Prussia is the best possible move we can make at the current time.”

“Why is it necessary to begin so far in advance? The war has only just begun.”

“It has been half a month, Francis. We need to do _something_.”

“I disagree.”

“I don’t give a bloody damn. The council is not yours. You do not get a say in our decisions.”

“We are allies,” Francis replies stiffly. “I would have thought that would mean a lot more to you. You didn’t advise us or ask for our council before implementing this foolish plan of yours. That was irresponsible, Arthur.”

“Damn it, man, give me a break. I’m bloody exhausted.”

Francis hesitates. Then his eyes soften. A tingle of warmth shoots through Arthur’s chest.

“When was the last time you slept, Angleterre?”

Arthur has to think for a moment. “The last full night of sleep I got was when I got drunk and slept in your bed.” He narrows his eyes at Matthew, but the Canadian only smiles back and hugs his polar bear tighter.

“Arthur, that was weeks ago. You need to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when this war is over,” Arthur snaps, “and not a moment sooner.” He yawns, though, and fights against his closing eyelids. He closes his eyes, just for a second - but that second turns into minutes and - and suddenly there are long fingers combing through his hair, sending little pinpricks of warm across his skin. He can’t stop himself from leaning into the touch and sighing as long-sought peace begins to settle like a blanket around him.

Then the fingers are gone and he opens his eyes and - Francis’ eyes are warm with something that looks like affection, and it makes Arthur’s breath catch in his throat.

“Come on,” Francis murmurs. “We can finish our meeting later. Good night, Mathieu.”

“Good night, Papa.”

Arthur lets Francis pull him to his feet. He staggers, legs weak with exhaustion, and almost slumps against the Frenchman’s chest.

“Careful, love.”

“Don’t call me love,” Arthur snaps halfheartedly.

He doesn’t know where they’re going until they’re there - standing outside Francis’ room, with Arthur sagged against the wall and yawning like he’s trying to crack his jaw. Francis pushes the door open and pulls Arthur inside - Arthur protesting sleepily - and then closes the door, leaving them in semi darkness.

“Do you remember,” Francis says slowly, “what we used to do during the last world war?”

Arthur sucks in a breath. He does - _warm hands in his hair, warm arms around his waist_ \- and he stumbles forward, landing on the edge of the bed. He shrugs out of his jacket, kicks his boots off, and lets his belt fall to the floor.

“It’ll help you sleep, right?”

Arthur nods - throat too tight to even think about talking, especially when Francis hands him a two-sizes-too-big shirt, the kind Arthur’s always preferred to sleep in - and strips down to his boxers and the shirt. Then he pauses, suddenly unsure. Wide-eyed, he glances up at the amused Frenchman.

“Oui, this is okay. I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want it, too.”

“God, yes.” Arthur finally manages to force words past the lump in his throat.

Francis sits beside him. “Have the nightmares come back?”

“I . . . no, but I’m sure they will. I’m . . . surprised that you remember them.”

“I used to have them, too, remember?” Francis’ smile is tight. “It’s alright if they do. I haven’t forgotten how to calm you down.”

And there’s - there’s nothing Arthur can say to that, nothing that he could possibly say that would mask the fluttering in his stomach and the pounding of his heart. So he settles for closing his eyes and leaning sideways until he falls to the bed. There’s a dip in the mattress and then - then Francis is beside him curled towards him and radiating heat. Arthur opens his eyes - Francis is smiling, and there’s that affectionate look again, and - if Arthur’s throat gets any tighter, he’s going to stop breathing altogether.

Gentle fingers brush through his hair again, and he stops breathing.

“Better?”

Arthur nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“You can . . . you can come closer. You’re shivering.”

Is he? He hadn’t - he’s shivering, he realizes a few moments later and - and Francis is practically a space heater, the way he gives off body heat. Arthur shifts closer \- can almost feel the warmth spread through him, relaxing his muscles and easing the tension he's been carrying for the past week.

Francis' arms tug him closer and he loses his air all over again.

"Is this okay?" Francis whispers.

"Yes," Arthur breathes. He leans his head against Francis' shoulder. God, this - this is _exactly_ what he's wanted since - since he doesn't remember when. It's like a constant ache, a reminder of what he doesn't have - but he can't feel it now. He's feels better, actually, than he remembers feeling in decades. Since the last world war.

Since the last time he shared a bed with Francis.

It was the first night of Normandy, the first night of all-out fighting that left them both weak and numb from the pain. They'd fallen in bed together - held each other until the morning light brought the first sign of relief.

Arthur shoves his face against Francis' chest and breathes in the heady smell of wine and vanilla.

"Sleep now, Arthur."

"Mm." His eyes are closing . . . closing . . .

_The sharp crackle of fire rouses him, already screaming as the flames lick his body. He stumbles to the window and empties his stomach in the deserted courtyard below. The room fills with smoke, choking him - no, no, he's not choking - it's not the room that's on fire, it's his city. His beloved London, exploding in his mind as bombs fall one by one._

The sharp crackle of fire rouses him.

He reaches out blindly - grabs a fistful of Francis' shirt - and starts sobbing, body convulsing as he chokes on the dust from the rubble.

"Arthur! Arthur, are you okay?"

He feels the hands on his shoulders - flinches away from them, tears streaming uncontrollably - and starts shaking, near vibrating with the pain that bursts through his heart. A strangled cry escapes his lips.

"Merde!"

The hands fall away and - falling, can't stop - he falls into Francis' arms. Arms wrap around his waist and pin him against a chest. Another cry passes his lips - God, make it stop, _make it stop_ \- and a spasm rushes through his body, leaving his muscles weak and aching.

"You're okay," a voice murmurs. "You're okay, I'm right here."

Then there are hands wandering across his back, rubbing out the tension. He groans - tries to focus on the relaxing, not the pain - and slowly, slowly, pushes the pain to the back of his mind. It's still there, still running through him in spasms - but it's no longer taking over his body. He gasps for breath - slumps against Francis' chest and just lets himself be held until his breathing goes back to normal. Doesn't think his heart will stop pounding, not when they're this close.

"Are you okay?"

Francis' voice is a barely-there whisper that sends shivers down his spine.

"I will be," Arthur says after a long moment. "I . . . they're . . . bombing London."

Francis sucks in a breath. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"It's fine." He swallows. "It was going to happen eventually. I knew it was going to happen."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

"I'm fine." His voice cracks, though, and he curls in tighter around himself. Francis' arms tighten around his waist.

"You're not. I can hear it in your voice."

Arthur flinches. After everything they've gone through, every fucked up situation from their past, how is it that Francis still knows him so well, still cares so much?

It's almost enough to break his heart.

It doesn't, though - but he whimpers, curls in tighter, and then there are fingers in his hair and warm lips on his forehead.

A tear slips down his cheek.

He uncurls a little, though, and let's himself relax into the warmth surrounding him. Sleep drags his eyelids down and he's drifting, drifting away . . .

There are words mumbled in French, but he's too far gone to hear them.


	8. Tomate

Toris blinks sleep from his eyes and smiles at Feliks.

"Good morning," he says happily.

Feliks looks less than happy. His eyebrows are drawn together - and he isn't even wearing any makeup, which is _always_ a bad sign. Toris' heart jumps into his throat and he takes Feliks' hand, squeezing tightly.

"Did something happen while I was asleep?"

Feliks shakes his head. "No . . . just a government meeting."

"What happened at the meeting?"

"I'm . . . sending aid to the Czech Republic." He looks like he still doesn't quite believe what he's saying. "We're going to be aiding the rebels from now on as they try to take back their territory."

"That's like asking to go to war!" Toris exclaims.

Feliks' eyes narrow. "You think I don't know that?" Then he sighs. "I . . . can sympathize with them, though. Like, I went through the same thing. We all did." He squeezes Toris' hand and keeps his eyes focused on the ground. "I told you, Toris. He's going to come for me next."

"I won't let him take you." There are tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as he throws his arms around Feliks. "I can't lose you, not again."

Feliks hugs him tighter, cradles Toris to his chest - and starts to cry. It's the first time Toris has ever seen him cry, and he's - he's not quite sure what to do. Is startled, at first - but then he brushes his thumbs across Feliks' cheeks, carefully brushing away the tears, and kisses him as soft and as sweet as he can.

"You're going to be okay. It might hurt for a little while, but you're going to be okay at the end of it all. You always are. You're so strong, Feliks - stronger than I am. I know you can make it through this alive. You've survived everything life has thrown at you so far. Your people are stronger, your nation is stronger. Don't be afraid. I'll be right here with you through all of it."

Feliks takes a shuddering breath and pulls Toris closer. "I love you, Liet."

"I love you, too, Feliks."

 

Every other wave of bombing is just as bad as the first. Gilbert thought he was prepared for them, ready to take the pain, ready to stand tall and prove himself worthy of being a nation.

He was wrong.

He's huddled on the floor, underneath a table, after a moment of panic in which he'd had the ridiculous idea that the bombs were actually falling on _him_ \- and he can't move, can barely breathe, can't do anything but sit there and whimper pathetically as pain shoots through every inch of his body. It's all too new, too uncontrollable - he doesn't know how to handle it.

Roderich finds him like that, slumped against the wall behind him, eyes a mess of tears and pain. Everything aches, everything burns - can't even move. Whimpers when Roderich tugs him gently out from under the table, and just lays limply on Roderich's lap as the Austrian brushes fingers through his hair.

"Shh," he whispers. "It'll be over soon. You're okay."

A fresh wave of bombing hits, and he blacks out.

When he comes to, he's in bed - curled up with his head on Roderich's chest, half on top of him. He blushes clean down to his chest and tries to pull away - but Roderich's gentle hands pull him back.

"You need to relax," Roderich murmurs. "It's always better if you can relax and try to forget about the pain."

How could he forget the pain? Even now it cuts through him like a knife - it's almost five in the morning, the bombing _has_ to be done, but the pain hasn't gone away - _why won't it go away?_ \- so he just curls up tighter and clings to Roderich's shirt and tries not to cry.

All his efforts reduced to nothing in just two nights of bombings.

Can almost feel all of his barriers slipping away. Melts in Roderich's arms - wants to kiss him, wants to hold him, more than he ever has before - but fear keeps him paralyzed. Roderich isn't gay - that he's certain about. After all, he'd been married to Eliza for God only knows how many years. Willingly, too - but that's beside the point. He has a friendship with Roderich that means everything to him, and he's not willing to risk it just for one kiss. He'd never be able to live with himself if Roderich looked at him in disgust, pulled away from him, stopped caring -

He whimpers and presses closer to the Austrian. Roderich lets him - doesn't say anything, doesn't make any sound at all, just starts combing his fingers through Gilbert's hair.

"Sing to me," Gilbert whispers. "You know which song."

Roderich laughs softly. "Ja, I do. How many times have we sung this song to each other over the years?"

Gilbert thinks back. It had become habit for them - when one of them was hurt or upset, or even just sick, they would crawl into the same bed and whoever wasn't hurting would sing this song to the other. It had always done its job - Gilbert can't remember what it was like before the song was written, and doesn't want to think about it, either. Just closes his eyes and nestles in Roderich's arms and smothers a yawn.

Roderich's voice is soft - it always is, when he sings - and it sounds like a chorus of angels. Well, alright, that was a little _too_ sappy - but he stands by it. Roderich has the most beautiful voice of any singer he's ever heard, and Gilbert's been to thousands of plays and musicals and concerts and even operas - though his presence at an opera house is _always_ Roderich's fault - and he's been around the world hearing different singers. He's never managed to find anyone, man or woman, who can manage to out sing Roderich. Maybe he's biased, though. Roderich doesn't sing much anymore - Gilbert can't remember the last time Roderich willingly sang for someone other than Gilbert - but he always does when Gilbert asks, and it's always with the same expression. The soft one, the one that hides affection behind layers of gentle fondness, the one that makes Gilbert's heart skip a beat.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss, every morning you greet me."

Sighs a little, and settles closer. It's like a blanket settling around his shoulders - peace, comfort, safety.

"Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me."

Mumbles the words under his breath - can feel more than see the small smile on Roderich's lips, the change in his voice as he matches his pitch to Gilbert's.

"Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever."

Barely makes it through the line before he's starting to slip away, hanging to consciousness by a tiny, little, precious thread.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever."

Sighs and whispers Roderich's name as he finally drifts off to sleep, the pain long forgotten.

 

This time, not even coffee is strong enough to keep him awake.

He knocks it back black, hoping the caffeine will help his eyes stay open - but it doesn't help, not in the slightest. Still feels like he's ready to fall over and sleep wherever he lands.

The bombs are a constant dull ache. He can block the worst of the pain, but it's never enough, not nearly enough. Can still feel every hit, every life lost - though there aren't many.

_Casualties of war_.

He'd known this was going to happen, of course. It's a war - he's not a fool. Doesn't want to dwell on the fact that those people that died - the families that are now grieving - are dead because of _him_ , because of his need to keep his brother alive.

His brother is worth it, though.

His brother helped build Germany from the ground up. Ludwig wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for his brother, and he's damn well prepared to pay the cost for saving his brother's life. Gilbert was never meant to die. How could someone so full of life be expected to give up and die?

He knows why this is happening - but it doesn't make it any easier on him, as he sits nursing his useless cup of coffee while the roar of the planes buzzes through his head. Closes his eyes. The darkness is welcome - but it's still not enough to fall asleep. Doesn't think he'll be able to sleep until the bombings are over, and who knows how long England's going to keep that up.

Small footsteps approach - doesn't need to turn around to know it's Feliciano. The soft sigh and the arms that wind around his shoulders are enough. Leans his head back against Feliciano's and swallows past the wave of guilt that crowds his throat.

"You should be asleep," Feliciano murmurs.

"Can't sleep." His voice is rough. Sounds like he's been crying.

"Try?"

Ludwig shakes his head. "Don't want to dream."

Feliciano flinches - just a tiny bit, enough for Ludwig to feel - and loosens his arms a little. There's another little sigh - and Ludwig doesn't know what to say. Barely knows how to form a coherent sentence, anyways.

"Want me to make you something to eat?"

Shakes his head again. Doesn't know if he'd be able to keep anything down.

Feliciano flops down in the chair next to him and puts his hand on Ludwig's knee. He's got his serious face on - it's been a long time since Ludwig's seen Feliciano look serious about _anything_ , but it's almost an everyday occurrence now.

"You need your sleep." His voice is stern, almost like Ludwig's. "Your health matters, too, Luddy."

"Don't want to dream," he repeats. It's true - the bombing of Berlin left horrible images sketched into his mind, and he's been reliving them every time he closes his eyes. It's not the only reason - but it'll do for Feliciano.

Feliciano makes a frustrated noise and runs a hand through his hair. Looks as tired as Ludwig feels.

"It's been a week and a half, Luddy. My troops are on the Austrian border, so we know Roderich and Eliza are safe for now. No other country has gotten involved, and even Slovakia is proclaiming neutrality. There's nothing to worry about. _We're winning_."

"There's always something to worry about." Clears his throat.

" _Ludwig_."

"Sorry, Feliciano. Gott, I'm so tired."

Feliciano's expression softens. "I have some sleeping pills."

That wakes him up a little. "You have sleeping pills? Why?"

"Sometimes I have trouble sleeping." His voice is soft - too soft, Ludwig realizes. And he won't meet Ludwig's eyes.

"Why do you have trouble sleeping?"

Feliciano swallows. "I . . . have bad nightmares, sometimes, about . . . about the war. And all the things that happened."

"Feliciano . . ."

"You know, you're the only one who still calls me that." His voice is still strained - but there's half a smile on his face. "Feliciano, I mean. Everyone calls me Feli."

Ludwig blinks. "Would you rather I call you Feli?"

"No! I just mean . . . I think it's nice. I like that you say my full name." He clears his throat and shuffles his feet. "Anyways . . . I have melatonin tablets. They're good for insomnia Do you want to take one?"

Thinks for a minute. He _really_ needs to sleep.

"I . . . alright."

"Ve," Feliciano says softly. Rummages in one of the counter until he pulls out a small package, and passes one of the pills to Ludwig. Chases it down with a glass of water that appears in his hand - Feliciano's doing, no doubt - and rests his head on his hands.

Starts feeling drowsy after about ten minutes of him sitting in silence while Feliciano chats on about whatever's on his mind. Doesn't realize it until his head slips off his hand and nearly bashes into the table. Yawns - nearly cracks his jaw with how hard he yawns - and lets Feliciano tug his arm and pull him upstairs. He just barely manages to collapse in bed before welcome sleep drags him under.

 

He's aching everywhere when his eyes open. He can feels the ruins of buildings, little beacons of death that tear at his heart. A whimper escapes, and he curls in tighter, silently begging for the world to disappear around him.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

Damn it. Bloody fucking hell. He remembers ending up in Francis' bed - again, the third night in a row - but that doesn't mean he's any more thrilled about it. Wonders why he keeps torturing himself like this. Sighs, and settles for shuffling closer.

"Everything hurts," he croaks - and it's true, it is, but it's nothing compared to the ache in his heart.

"Would you like some medicine?"

"What kind?"

Francis' arms tighten almost imperceptibly. "Just . . . answer me."

"Not if it's going to make me sleep. Bloody Frog, we have work to do, remember?"

The Frenchman chuckles. "That would involve getting out of bed, Angleterre."

Arthur groans.

"Oui, that is what I thought. So, if you don't want to sleep, I have other medicine to help the pain."

Arthur shakes his head. "I can't take anything that will affect my concentration. I need to be okay. I am okay."

"There's a world of difference between need to be an am."

"I know," Arthur snaps. He pushes away from Francis, heart sinking a little when he sees the obvious concern in those blue eyes.

Francis bites his lip. "You really should stay in bed, Arthur. You have had a few rough nights and could use the extra sleep. Even if you just lay here and rest."

"I should be up helping."

"You should be taking care of yourself."

It goes on like that for some time - and while Arthur is annoyed but the Frenchman's stubbornness, he's grateful that the man cares enough to argue with him. He finally relents - smirks at Francis' sigh when he curls tighter into the blankets and closes his eyes. Feels gentle fingers curl through his hair.

"I'm going to go get you some medicine," Francis says. "I'll be right back."

Arthur grabs his wrist. "N-No! I . . . I don't want to sleep."

"Angleterre, you need to rest."

"Fine, fine, but just . . . don't make me sleep. I'll stay in bed and everything, bloody Frog, but don't give me sleeping pills."

"Are you okay, Arthur?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" His voice shakes, though. Opens his eyes - and Francis is staring at him, eyebrows pinched, unmasked concern all over his expression. Lays back down next to Arthur and hesitantly touches his shoulder.

"Tell the truth," he says softly.

Arthur swallows. "I'm fine. Really. Just not tired."

"It's the nightmares, isn't it."

It isn't a question, but Arthur nods. Curls in tighter, until his knees are pressed so tightly to his chest that he can't breathe right. Francis shifts - slides around him, until he's behind Arthur - and he only has a moment to be nervous before Francis' fingers slide across his back, effortlessly soothing out the tension. Some of the soreness melts away, and Arthur can't stop the contented sigh that falls from his lips. Let's himself uncurl, slowly, until he's laying limp and half-awake, Francis' touch the only thing on his mind.

"Is that better?" Francis asks softly.

He manages to nod. A yawn makes his eyes droop. Sleep suddenly seems like a great idea.

"Sleep. Arthur. I'll be right here. I'll keep the nightmares away, just like you did for me."

Something warm and peaceful blooms in his stomach. Arthur melts back, head resting on Francis' shoulder, and closes his eyes. Feels safe like this. Drifts off with the feeling of Francis pressed against his back, warming him all over.

 

Lovino scowls as he stomps his way downstairs. Eight o'clock in the morning is _too damn early_ for someone to be pounding on the stupid potato bastard's door. Of course, since said potato bastard is currently cuddling Lovino's equally stupid little brother, it's left to Lovino to see who's at the door.

He throws the door open, smirking when it slams into the wall - hoping, of course, that it wakes the stupid potato bastard. Then he frowns.

"Lovi!"

Suddenly there are arms smothering him, pulling him close. He lashes out, trying to fend off the attacker - and then he realizes who it is.

"Cazzo!" he shrieks. "What are you doing here, you stupid tomato bastard?"

"I came to see Gilbert, of course!"

Lovino scowls. "Of course."

Antonio blinks. "Lovi? Is something wrong? Is Gilbert okay?"

"The stupid potato bastard is just fine, of course. Why the hell did it take you so long to come if you wanted to see him so badly?"

Antonio turns red. "I wanted to come sooner!" he insists. "But . . . my boss . . ."

Lovino sighs. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Alright, fine, but be quiet. I think Feli is still sleeping."

"Si! I'll be quiet!" Antonio's voice drops to a whisper and his grin widens, and Lovino wants to put his fist through a wall. Stupid cheerful Spaniards with their stupidly attractive smiles and stupidly green eyes.

The Spaniard follows Lovino up the stairs, whispering about tomatoes and all the things he's been doing over the past year. Lovino tunes him out, wondering why exactly he's upset that Antonio came to see _Gilbert_ instead of him. They haven't seen each other in over a year - shouldn't Antonio have wanted to see _him_?

Lovino barges through the door of Gilbert's room without warning. Gilbert's eyes fly open and Roderich's head shoots up - thank _God_ they aren't in the same bed, Lovino's walked in on that more than once and doesn't need to see it again. He grumbles under his breath as he marches into the kitchen to start cooking. He doesn't want to see their happy reunion.

 

Gilbert's eyes light up. "Antonio!"

"Mi amigo! It's so good to see you!"

Antonio rushes across the room and throws himself onto Gilbert in a big hug. Gilbert winces - but he hugs back, throwing his arms around the Spaniard's shoulders.

"Verdammt, it's good to see you," Gilbert says. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Economic issues all over the place," Antonio says with a light laugh. "I'm okay, though."

Gilbert drags his eyes away from Antonio's smile and looks down. "Fuck - Antonio, you're thinner than I am, and that's saying something.

Antonio shrugs and doesn't meet his eyes. "I'm okay. They're working on solutions."

"Well, they better find one fast. Jesus Christ, how are you holding up? No, don't answer that." Gilbert pushes himself up and grabs Antonio's wrist. He's almost afraid to tug - he looks so delicate, like he's going to snap any second. "Mein awesomeness is going to make you breakfast, and you're going to eat everything I put in front of you."

Antonio flinches. "N-No, Gil. I can't - how can I eat when my people are starving?"

"Bullshit. You can't take care of them if you can't even take care of yourself."

"Si, you're right, but it doesn't feel right."

"Well, screw what feels right. Come on." He tugs _gently_ on Antonio's wrist. The Spaniard follows after the slightest hesitation. Roderich trails behind them.

"Hola, amigo," Antonio says softly.

"Gilbert is right." Roderich ignores the greeting. "You ought to take better care of yourself."

Antonio's smile is tight. "Si, I know. I'll try."

Lovino is in the kitchen. Gilbert scowls at him - and then notices the way Lovino's eyes stick to Antonio. He smirks.

"Oi, Romano," he snaps. "Go sit next to Antonio and make sure he doesn't pass out or something. Leave it to the Germans to cook a hearty breakfast."

 

"Pass out?"

As if his day wasn't bad enough already. Now Gilbert was cooking _breakfast_ for Antonio? Cazzo, why is he so annoyed at this?

He sits down next to Antonio and crosses his arms. For the first time he realizes - Antonio's arms are pencil thin, and he can see how the baggy sweatshirt hangs off Antonio's emaciated body.

"Dio." he whispers. "Antonio . . . what the hell?"

Antonio doesn't meet his eyes. "Economic issues. I didn't want you to worry."

It hits him like a bag of bricks. "That's why you've been avoiding me for a year."

Antonio's silence is the only confirmation he needs. Lovino clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white - and then he takes a deep breath, and wills away the rage that bubbles under the surface. Takes a breath and tries to think - can barely think, not when he sees the way Antonio trembles and shakes. There are dark circles under his eyes - and how had Lovino not noticed this before? How had he let Antonio walk through the door like this?

It's enough to make him sick. Dimly notices Roderich slip out of the kitchen. Clenches his fists under the table and sucks in a breath - and then Antonio's bony fingers are on his shoulder.

"Calm down, Lovino," he whispers.

"I am calm," Lovino manages to say.

"Your knuckles are turning white. Your eyes are darker. Don't lie to me, tomate."

Something twists in his stomach when Antonio uses his old nickname. Swallows, and takes Antonio's hand is both of his, and brushes his thumbs across the pale skin.

"You've got to take better care of yourself," Lovino mumbles.

Antonio shrugs. "It doesn't really matter. It's my people that are starving, not me."

"Bullshit. You can still feel it. Isn't there anything your boss can do to help the economy?"

"Go to war."

Lovino swallows again. "No."

"Lovi -"

"No, fuck that, you're not joining this war." Tightens his hands around Antonio's without realizing it - Antonio flinches, and Lovino drops his hand like it burns him.

"Sorry, I -"

"Lovi. Lovi, listen to me."

Antonio's right in front of him, suddenly, practically on his lap with how close he is to Lovino - and he can't breathe, can't do anything but stare up into Antonio's eyes.

"I'm not joining the war, but right now it seems like the only option to recover my economy. It's also the fastest, and my people _need_ relief, they need it more than I do. And they're struggling so badly right now, trying to make things work, but none of it is actually working." There are tears in the corners of his eyes. "I know people will die if I join the war, but if I want to protect _everyone_ \- that might be an option I have to take."

"What side would you join?" Lovino makes himself ask. His voice is barely a whisper - can't breathe, can't take a deep breath -

"Yours, of course."

He lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sags back in his chair a little as relief washes over him - hadn't realized that he was so scared, so nervous that Antonio would be his enemy.

"Damn right, you will."

Gilbert's there, suddenly. Lovino wonders how he forgot the dumb potato bastard was there. Manages to grab Antonio's wrists - gently pushes him back into his chair, feels his full-body shudder when he sees all the food.

"Eat," he says - his throat is scratchy and his voice his hoarse, but he couldn't care less right now.

"Gracias," Antonio breathes.

"Don't mention it," Gilbert says, gruff. "You're my best friend. Always have been. I'm sure as hell going to take care of you. Hey! Why don't you spend the night tonight? I can make you _three more_ awesome meals like this."

"Oh, Gil, I couldn't -"

"Like hell you couldn't. Of course you can! There's still an extra guest bedroom upstairs, next to Feli's room - not that he ever sleeps in his own room, he's always with Ludwig."

Lovino's hands clench into fists.

Antonio laughs.

"So they're still that close, eh?" He shoves an overloaded forkful of food into his mouth and his eyes close in near-religious worship.

"Hell, I'm pretty sure Feli is the only one who can actually get Ludwig to sleep in a bed for more than thirty minutes." He takes a seat on Antonio's other side and starts working on devouring his own breakfast.

"Is Ludwig overworking himself again?"

"Ja." Gilbert swallows and looks away. "I told him he shouldn't have let me live."

"I'll be back," Lovino says shortly. Stands up - has no idea where to go, but doesn't want to sit there and listen to Gilbert's sob story. Casts one backward glance at Antonio - there's already some color in his cheeks, and he looks more awake as he stares at the Prussian with an expression so serious that it's almost funny.

 

"Gilbert, don't say that."

"It's true, though." Can't lie to his best friend. Antonio deserves the truth - even if it's fucked up, even if it rips another hole in his heart to say it. "I wasn't ready to die - I don't think anyone ever is - but I was ready to give it all up to protect him. He was . . . he was wasting away, living by my bedside and barely leaving the house. The only times he'd leave. _really_ leave, is if there was someone here with me. I think he was afraid that if I were left alone, I'd try to kill myself."

Antonio, to his credit, doesn't look at him like he's crazy. Gives him this knowing, sad, sympathetic little smile that just makes everything so much worse. He doesn't deserve that sympathy, that understanding. He was weak. Says as much - but Antonio just rolls his eyes.

"That's not weakness, Gil. That's you trying to cope with the most difficult thing you've ever had to go through. I don't think anyone would think any less of you for wanting to die."

"I wouldn't have done it," he says softly. "I was a coward, Toni. I knew it would be the end for me if I took my life. I had no people, no land to revive me. There was nothing tying me to the Earth anymore."

"You can't know that for sure."

"I can. I lived through it."

Antonio sighs. "Gil -"

"Don't. I don't want to hear it. I'm so damn grateful to Ludwig for doing this for me, but I still don't think he should have. I've never been anyone worth saving."

"And that, amigo, is where we're going to have to agree to disagree."

And that's what he likes about Antonio, what he's always liked - Antonio never tries to push him into believing in anything he doesn't want to, never tries to make him change or be better. He knows, on some level, that it's wrong - but it's a comfortable friendship. Gilbert's too messed up for one person to be able to change him, and Antonio knows it.

"So how are things with your little Italian friend?"

Antonio blushes and almost chokes on his forkful of pancakes. Coughs a few times, cheeks reddening more as he looks anywhere but Gilbert.

"Careful, there," Gilbert grins.

Antonio takes a deep breath - and then bites his lip. Gilbert grins wider and pokes Antonio's shoulder. Antonio scowls - but it's halfhearted. Bursts out laughing seconds later, and Gilbert can't help but join in. It feels good to laugh, to have something to be happy about.

"He's as cute as ever," Antonio says when he stops laughing. "I haven't seen him in a year or so - I didn't want him to worry about me, even though he'd never actually _admit_ to worrying about me - but it's just as strong. Maybe even stronger. I'm so proud of him."

Gilbert snorts at the way Antonio's gone all starry eyed. "Proud of him for what?"

Antonio flaps his hands in a vague motion. "For all this, of course! Do you have any idea how much he hates the idea of Feli living in the same house as Ludwig? He cares about Feli so much, it's amazing, really. He gave up everything he has in Rome to come here and live with you, all because he wants to protect his brother. That's the kind of big brother he is. He's always been like that, ever since they were reunited."

Gilbert's grin slips into a real, honest-to-God smile. Antonio's always been a sap, but he has a way of seeing the best in people that Gilbert admires. It isn't innocence - Antonio's been through his fair share of wars and hardships, like any other nation. It's real, because Antonio honestly believes the best in people. And that's gotten him into trouble in the past, but it hasn't stopped him from believing wholeheartedly in his friends.

Watches in silence as Antonio finishes off his huge breakfast - takes the dishes and puts them in the sink, and then motions for Antonio to follow him up the stairs. Shows him his room and then leaves, with the excuse that he's tired and still needs to rest. Antonio nods - smiles - and then disappears into his room. Gilbert exhales, slowly, and walks into his own room.

Roderich's asleep, curled up in the big armchair in the corner with a book half falling off his lap, glasses crooked and hair a disaster against the pillow tucked against his shoulder.

A smile breaks out across his face before he can stop it. Shuts the door as quietly as he can, and then walks across the room and gently, _gently_ , pulls Roderich's glasses off his face. Sets them on the table and takes the book. Grabs a blanket and drapes it across the Austrian, smiling wider at the happy little sigh that escapes Roderich's lips. Fondness courses through him. Wants nothing more than to curl up on Roderich's lap and fall asleep against his shoulder with Roderich's arms around his waist - but he can't, doesn't want to wake Roderich, and besides, there isn't much room left on the armchair. So he settles on the bed and makes himself comfortable and opens the book to the page where Roderich left off and starts reading.

 

He goes and finds Lovino, of course.

Wanders around the house for a few hours, checking every nook and cranny for the little Italian. He gives up after a while - joins Ludwig in his study and catches up with him and Feliciano. Feliciano's excited to see him, of course, more excited than Antonio thought he would be.

After a while, Ludwig makes the excuse of needing to finish work. Antonio takes the hint - he'd walked in on something, it was clear, from the way Ludwig and Feliciano keep looking at each other. Heads into the kitchen and munches on a tomato as he starts to look for Lovino again.

Finds him in the garden, sitting on a makeshift seat and shivering. It may be the end of April, but there's still a chill in the air. He's got a blanket with him - drapes it over Lovino's shoulders and smiles widely at the scowling brunette.

"What do you want?"

Antonio shrugs. "Gilbert was tired, so he's resting now, and I don't want to bother Ludwig. So I came out here with you!"

Lovino scowls more. "I don't want you out here."

"Aww, Lovi, don't be like that. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you for so long. I just didn't want you to worry!"

"Why the fuck would I be worried about you?" He turns his head away. Quieter, he says, "You should have told me what was going on."

"Lo siento, Lovi. I really am." He smiles a little softer and touches Lovino's shoulder. "Why don't you come back inside? It's cold out here."

"I'm fine. You go on alone."

"Lovi, it's dark out. You should go to sleep."

"I will. I'll be up soon." He tugs the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "I just need some time to myself."

"Alright." Antonio smiles at him and squeezes his shoulder before he goes inside. Lays down on his bed - so much more comfortable than the one at home - and stares at the ceiling. It's always hard for him to sleep in unfamiliar places. Shifts around until he's as comfortable as he can be and starts dozing - but then the door opens, and he starts awake.

A cold body crawls into bed beside him and curls up, taking up most of the blankets. Antonio smiles and carefully pulls Lovino closer - then frowns, when the Italian doesn't resist.

"Lovi?" he whispers. "You okay?"

"Nightmare. Go back to sleep."

"I'm here, Lovi, if you need me."

"I said go back to sleep."

Lovino curls up tighter, almost defensive in the way he wraps his arms around his knees. Antonio rubs a hand across his back until he feels some of the tension start to ease away. After an endless moment, Lovino curls up with his head on Antonio's chest, pressed close under the blankets where no one can see. Heat pools wherever they're touching - and Antonio smiles a little wider and little less forced. Tucks the blankets around Lovino's shoulders and curls his fingers through the brunette hair, almost absently.

"Good night, tomate," he whispers. Doesn't expect Lovino to respond - he never does, never likes to admit that sometimes he needs this as much as Antonio does -

"Buonanotte," Lovi murmurs, almost gently.

Antonio's cheeks turn red and he has to stop himself from hugging Lovino to his chest. Settles for rubbing his fingers across Lovino's head, massaging gently. There's a happy little sigh - and then Lovino's breathing starts to even out.

He stays that way, drifting in and out of sleep, until the sun comes through his window and Lovino wakes up.

 

A month has passed. Gilbert feels like it's been an eternity - a Hell-on-Earth, with bombings almost every night and the constant, near-blinding pain of social and political upheaval. His stomach twists when he thinks of his nation, the little broken, bleeding thing it is. It's _something_ , though, which is more than he ever expected.

"Good morning," Roderich says easily as Gilbert slips into the kitchen. Sunlight is just barely beginning to peek through the window. It's early for him - he normally sleeps in as late as he can, until Ludwig drags his sorry ass out of bed to attend meeting after meeting - but he's not tired.

"Morning," he mumbles. There are pancakes on the counter, and they're still hot. He grabs a few and drenches them in Canadian maple syrup, the good stuff - thank God for Matthew, because these pancakes taste like Heaven on Earth.

"What's the date?"

Roderich's hunched over the table, scribbling a little notebook that reminds Gilbert of all the diaries he still has locked away in Berlin.

"Why? Are you starting a diary like mein awesomeness?"

Roderich scoffs. "More like a list of war events. I want to keep track of everything that's happened."

"Nothing's happened yet today, the fuck do you need the date for?"

"Language, Gil." Roderich says reflexively. "Just because nothing has happened today doesn't mean the date isn't important. It's been a month since the war began, right?"

Gilbert rolls his eyes. "Actually, today's the sixteenth. You're a few days ahead."

Roderich frowns. "Oh. Alright, then. April sixteenth it is." He crosses something out and goes on scribbling while Gilbert eats his pancakes. When he's done, he drops his plate in the sink. The sudden noise makes Roderich start.

"Did I scare you, Specs?" Gilbert smirks.

Roderich readjusts his glasses. His lips tighten into a flat line. "No."

"Liar."

"I am not a liar."

"Ja, you are."

"Verdammt, Gilbert, can you be quiet? I am trying to focus on this."

"Nein, pissing you off is the best part of my day."

Roderich looks murderous now. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, if you don't -"

Roderich's voice cuts off when Gilbert falls to his knees - all the blood rushes to his head and makes the room spin and he feels so _weak_ \- and suddenly he's grabbing Gilbert's shoulders and keeping him upright as he struggles for breath in a chest that's getting tighter and tighter.

"What is it?" Roderich asks, voice shaking. "More bombing? An attack?"

"Nein," Gilbert manages to wheeze. "Mein . . . people . . ."

And then the world fades to black.

 

When he comes to, he's laying on his back in a warm bed. Can feel someone - most likely Roderich - beside him. Makes a noise that sounds pained before he clamps his mouth shut and forces his eyes shut.

"You're okay," Roderich whispers. "You're safe."

Doesn't feel safe. Feels like someone to an axe to his heart and split it right down the middle. Can feel his people screaming, fighting, killing. Dying.Dying, fighting - for him, against him, it doesn't make a difference. Dead is dead, no matter what side they're on.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he manages, before he leans over the side of the bed and empties his stomach on the floor.


	9. Perfect Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one.
> 
> I apologize in advance for the feels - please don't murder me! :c

Cool hands press against his forehead. Fingers tangle in his hair. Blankets are tucked around his shoulders. Can't open his eyes, can't speak - but feels and hears, can tell what's going on around him.

"What's going on, Ludwig?"

"There's been an attack. We're fighting rebels now, Roderich."

" _Verdammt_. Is he going to be okay?"

"We can't do anything but keep him comfortable until the fighting is over."

"I don't like this."

"Neither do I. Here." A clink. "If he wakes up, try to get him to eat."

"Ja, I will. Danke."

"Bitte. I'll be heading out to aid the commander now. I'll be back in a few days."

"Take care, Ludwig. Is Feliciano staying here?"

"Ja, watch out for him. Let him cook whatever he wants. I'm not too worried - Lovino is here. They'll be fine together."

"Come back safely. For your bruder."

"I will. Auf wiedersehen, Roderich."

"Auf wiedersehen, Ludwig."

Cool hands, cool cloth, shivers. More blankets. It's hot, too hot, but he can't say anything. Can barely breathe. Cracks his eyes open enough to see Roderich's face - pale, drawn, concerned - before the world goes black.

 

_1806._

_He sits like a soldier - back straighter than a ruler, eyes focused nowhere and everywhere. Sits like he's waiting for something to happen, and he is. Clutches the hand of the Holy Roman Empire and listens to him breathe, listens to him fight for every breath and every moment of life._

_How did it get like this?_

_He was sure, so sure, that they'd all be okay. That they'd all come out of this one alive. And now Holy Rome is dying, and it's his fault, all his fault. He couldn't stop Napoleon._

_Holy Rome stirs and Prussia holds his breath. Exhales when he realizes that his little brother isn't going to wake up any time soon. Stands up and - and where can he go? The world's a battlefield. and he's surrounded by soldiers that aren't even his. Doesn't know why he even bothered to come._

_To protect Holy Rome, of course._

_He failed, though._

_Shudders and pushes through the opening of the tent. He stomps across the field and slumps against a tree just out of sight of the rest of the soldiers. They have some inkling of what Prussia and Holy Rome are - enough to respect them, and even fear them a little, but Prussia doesn't consider any of them his friends, not even his own men. They die too easily and too quickly. He learned after his first mistake, after befriending a young soldiers years ago. He still remembers seeing the light leave his eyes, seeing the hope for the future disappear like a candle being blown out._

_Loving hurts._

_He's no fool - he's been alive long enough to know that women aren't really his type. Knows better than to say anything. Being different gets you killed._

_Sags back against the tree and presses his fingers to his temples and closes his eyes. He can't let Holy Rome die - but what other choice does he have? There's no way to save him. Doesn't understand why his brother is dying, for real this time - after all, they've both died before. Killed in battle - Prussia's died that way so many times, it's almost a sport now. Holy Rome had been on the wrong side of the battle once before - Prussia held him while he died, cried over his limp body until Holy Rome's eyes opened. Then he'd hugged his brother tight and hadn't let him out of his sight for weeks after that._

_Why does he have to die now, though?_

_He understands that the Holy Roman Empire is failing. Politics were never his thing, but he knows enough to realize that Napoleon is bad, and that they're going to take his brother away. Wants to do something, anything, but all he knows is fighting and bloodshed. He can't very well go to war on Napoleon. That's one battle that even his awesome self can't win._

_Clasps his hands together and stares up at the night sky. Torches flicker on the edges of his vision. He can hear the faint hoot of an owl. The world around him is alive - he can almost feel it breathing, feel it turning underneath his feet. It's changing every second of every day, and someday it'll leave him behind. The fact that he's breathing is a miracle - he should have died long before this moment, before this endless night of death and dying and the pain of the living._

_He stands up and clutches the tree for a moment as the world around him tilts. Then he rights himself and staggers back to the tent. Holy Rome looks the same as ever - pale skin against pale blonde hair against bloodstained sheets. He takes his brother's hand and sits down, slumped as close as he can be without touching Holy Rome. He doesn't care if the commander sees him like this anymore. Doesn't care if the soldiers think any less of him. That's his brother laying in the bed, and he'll be as emotional as he wants to be._

_He can't be the perfect soldier anymore._

_Holy Rome stirs again. Prussia's head shoots up - stares at the pale face, at the skin so similar to his, and prays. Bows his head a prays to whoever's listening to save his brother, just save him - the cost doesn't matter, Prussia will do anything._

_Holy Rome's eyes flicker open. Exhausted blue irises stare at him. There's something off - shouldn't he be in pain? There's no pain in his eyes, just fear and confusion._

_"Who are you?" Holy Rome asks. "Where am I?"_

_Gilbert blinks. Swallows. Tightens his grip on his brother's hand. "What do you mean? Don't you remember the battle?"_

_"Battle? There was a battle?" Holy Rome's eyes start to close - and within seconds he's asleep again, breathing erratic._

_He drops his brother's hand like he's been burned and hurries from the tent._

_"France!"_

_There's no point in caring about his safety anymore, not if his brother doesn't remember him. He storms across the battlefield, avoiding bodies left and right. France is at the forefront, speaking to his commanders. He stops when he notices Prussia - and the smirk he sees tells him everything he needs to know. His fist connects with France's eye before he realizes that he threw a punch. Then they're down on the ground, Prussia pinning France, bloodlust screaming in his veins._

_"What did you do to him?" he screams. "What the fuck did you do to mein bruder?"_

_Frances wheezes a laugh and spits blood in Prussia's face. "The Holy Roman Empire has been dissolved permanently. He'll die shortly."_

_Something cold washes through him. "You didn't."_

_"Oh, but I did. He was useless to us, anyways. Napoleon has grand ideas for the land."_

_"Like hell will I let your manipulative asshole boss try to take control of him."_

_"You don't have a choice, Prussia. Napoleon is stronger than you."_

_"Fuck that. Fuck all of you Frenchmen. I'll get my revenge on you all one by one." He forces himself to his feet and wipes away France's blood. "This land will be mine. I won't let you take him from me, not again."_

_"Then you will die with him."_

_France's words chill his skin all the way back to the tent. He stomps in - Holy Rome is still asleep, but his breathing is even now. Gilbert snatches his canister off the table and holds it to Holy Rome's lips._

_"Come on, bruder," he whispers. "Wake up. You have to drink something."_

_Those blue irises - so unlike his own - open and peer at him in confusion. He accepts the water with a hesitant swallow._

_"Who are you? Where . . . where am I?"_

_"You're in Austerlitz," Prussia says. "And your name is Germany."_

Fingers in his hair, glass against his lips - he swallows, and winces at the soreness in his throat. Mumbles incoherently and tries to shift closer to the warm body pressed against his.

"Roderich," he croaks.

"Shh, Gil. Go back to sleep. Everything's okay."

"Hurts."

"I know, Gil. I know. It'll all be over soon, I promise. Ludwig's going to take care of you."

_Ludwig's going to take care of you_.

He lets himself fall back asleep as those words play over and over in his mind, comforting him and soothing him.

 

_1866._

_Austria's knees hit the ground with a thud that echoes through the silent camp._

_Prussia smirks._

_"Not so tough now, eh?"_

_"Bastard." Austria lifts his head and laughs - it's cold, and it sends shivers down Prussia's spine. He spits blood at Prussia's feet. "You haven't won yet."_

_"Damn right, I haven't. You're still alive."_

_A flicker of fear passes through Austria's eyes - and suddenly, curiously, Prussia feels sorry for him. Tries to shake the feeling off, but it leaves him a little disturbed._

_"I won't die that easily." A cough rips through his throat - and there's more blood on the ground. Prussia wrinkles his nose and takes a step back._

_"That's disgusting."_

_"That's life. I'm healing."_

_"Don't bother. I'll kill you."_

_Austria spreads his arms. "Go ahead. Run me through with your sword. Make me your slave, your whore. Show me what you've got."_

_Prussia hesitates._

_Austria laughs._

_It ends in a cough. He throws his head back and laughs again, laughs to the sky and the tiny droplets of rain that begin to fall._

_"You won't do it," he says, still laughing. "You're weak, Prussia. Weak. And you'll never be the greatest power of the land. You'll always be just another pathetic little nation state. You'll never be as great as Austrian Empire."_

_"I'll show you." Prussia swallows. There's something different about Austria. Something not right._

_"Sure, you will." He climbs to his feet and turns away from Prussia._

_He could do it - it's low, but he could run Austria through right then and there. There's nothing stopping him, nothing at all._

_Austria crosses the camp unscathed._

_"Like I said. You're weak."_

_He stands there long after the blood is washed away by the rain._

 

"Austria . . ."

"Hush, Gil."

There are arms around his waist. Burrows into the warmth, swallows past the ache in his throat.

"Water."

"It's right here. Open your mouth - there, like that. Is that better?"

Licks the last droplets of water off the rim of the cup and makes a noise that he hopes means yes. Is too tired to do anything but settle closer to Roderich. Sighs - winces as it scrapes against his throat - and yawns. Hurts too much to try speaking again.

"You're going to be okay. It's almost over. You're so brave, so strong for going through this."

 

_1878._

_He didn't think he'd live this long._

_Not after what happened twelve years ago._

_But here he is, alive and well, and with a certain Austrian beneath him, writhing and arching into his hands._

_The Congress has concluded - their rivalry is over, at least for now. He's sure they'll find another reason to hate each other in the future, when things aren't so clear._

_He jerks his hand and Austria moans, loudly. Can't stop the full-body shudder that races down his spine. Their lips connect again and again, bruising and intense. Nips at Austria's exposed neck - the cravat lays forgotten on the floor with the rest of their clothes._

_"Gilbert," Austria gasps, eyes closed._

_He jerks - Austria moans again - and almost stops. He's never heard anyone use his human name before. They all have them, of course - they're still human, even if they're immortal. They've never had a reason to use them before, though._

_Swallows past the emotions that rise in his throat and slides his hand along Austria's dick, faster and faster. Austria's leaking all over his hand, but Prussia can't bring himself to care. He's hanging hot and heavy between his knees, and Austria's sounds are making him feel weak with arousal. Has to grit his teeth and lock his knees - kneeling above Austria was a bad idea, and he's regretting it now, but it's too late to stop._

_With a final cry and a shout of his human name, Austria comes all over his hand._

_He wipes it in the sheets and falls to the bed besides his once-rival, panting and shaking with the effort of not jerking himself right then and there. Because Austria takes a moment to recover - and then he's pressed against Prussia's hips, putting pressure just where he needs it. Hisses and bucks his hips up into Austria's waiting hand, mind nearly washing white from pleasure._

_Austria leans down and presses kisses along his collarbone, teeth scraping against his skin. He twists into it, panting harshly in the night air. The hand around his dick speeds up - and suddenly he's coming undone, mind going blessedly blank._

_When he comes back down he's tucked against Austria's chest, shaking. Swallows - starts to move, but Austria tugs him back down. Shakes a little more, until he feels hands brushing through his hair. Drowsiness washes over him, threatening to drag him under._

_Feels content like this, in Austria's arms. Roderich's, he should say - if the Austrian is going to start using his human name, Prussia can at least return the favor._

_Thinks about all of their fights and wars over the year. It was a great rivalry - gave them something to do, to pass the tedious years that all started to bleed together, and gave them something to fight for. But now Prussia wonders if there's something else in their future, some way for them to be friends. He can already tell that one night like this isn't going to be enough. Needs someone to hold when he sleeps, wants to be held - but does it matter if it's Austria - Roderich?_

_Tries to picture someone else in Roderich's place. Thinks of the women he met in the tavern a few nights back - nope. Thinks of the wives of the soldiers he fights beside - could he ever have someone like that?_

_The closest he's gotten is that soldier, long ago._

_Prussia's no fool. He accepted his fate years ago._

_It's Roderich, though - it has to be. Because, yes, Prussia's been attracted to many men over the years - vague, one-night stands that he never saw again. But none of them ever made him feel like this._

_It's a good feeling - he doesn't want to lose it, but he knows he has to when the morning light comes. Can't lay here forever, though he wants to._

_Can't bring himself to hope that there's something more. That Roderich could ever love him._

_Prussia doesn't know what love is._

_He wonders if this is it._

Stirs a little. The dream hovers on the edge of his vision. Shoves his face closer to Roderich's neck and just breathes, breathes and lets himself feel all of those emotions from the past. His stomach twists, his head throbs - but he settles as close as he can to Roderich and lets himself be held as the world starts to slip away again.

 

_25 February 1947._

_He never thought this day would come._

_He always assumed he'd die in battle, going out in a blaze of glory with his troops behind him, willing to die for him. He thought he'd be dead long before this moment, buried with Ludwig a wreck over his grave. Never thought it'd end like this - dissolved. Broken, bleeding, helpless._

_He's on his knees and shaking hard. A sob rips through his throat. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes as he sways. Slumps to the side - can't hold himself up anymore, doesn't have the energy._

_Then there are arms around his waist, holding him up. Sags back against a warm chest. Manages to blink his eyes open - and stares up into Roderich's eyes, hating himself for the way his heart leaps into his throat. If he has to die, he's glad it's in Roderich's arms._

_"Shh, Gil, you're going to be okay. I'm not going to let you die."_

_Doesn't have the energy to argue. Whimpers - everything hurts, it's like someone set his veins on fire - and tries to cling to Roderich's shirt. Barely keeps himself from passing out._

_"Shh. Close your eyes. It'll all be over soon."_

_That's right, it will. He'll be dead soon. By morning, probably. Wonders, idly, if he can watch the sun rise one last time. Surely he's earned that much, right?_

_Gentle fingers card through his hair. Whimpers again - and then relaxes back, some semblance of peace settling over him like a blanket. Shoves his face against Roderich's chest and lets the tears fall until the world around him fades to black._

 

It's dark. He panics at first - where is he, is he dying? - and takes a deep breath when he feels Roderich beside him. Turns onto his side and clings to Roderich with everything he has.

"Gil? Are you okay?"

"Ja," he croaks. His voice is hoarse, but it doesn't hurt anymore. Stifles a yawn - verdammt, how can he be this tired?

"You should go back to sleep," Roderich whispers. "You've had a rough few days. You need to recover."

"How long have I been out?"

"Three days."

He sits up fast - the room starts to spin, and he leans against Roderich. "Three days? Mein Gott, why didn't anyone wake me?"

"You've been sick." Roderich's voice is gentle, even more gentle than when Gilbert is dying. "You had an abnormally large fever, which only broke a few hours ago. You should be resting still, Gil."

"Nein, nein, I - where's Ludwig?"

He looks back as he says it, and watches Roderich's gentle expression slip for a fraction of a second. The Austrian swallows.

"Plzeň."

"Why is he in Plzeň?"

"Do you really not know?"

"How the fuck could I know if I've been in bed for three days?"

"I thought . . . you would feel what happened."

He stills. Had he felt it? His memories from before are fuzzy. "I . . . don't remember."

Roderich swallows again. "There was a rebellion. They tried to overthrow the government. Ludwig went to take care of the situation while you were out."

Gilbert flinches and pulls back. "I need to go to Plzen."

"Nein, you need rest!"

"Verdammt! Roderich, that's my _nation_. I need to go there. I remember how to fucking drive, you don't have to come with me."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're in no state to drive to Plzeň on your own. I'll drive you."

"You don't have to. I can go on my own."

"I told you not to be ridiculous. I'm not letting you walk into danger on your own. I don't know how things are going over there, and you're going to need help. Get ready - I'll start the car."

Roderich hurries from the room, adjusting his cravat. Gilbert stares after him for the longest moment.

Gratitude is a merciless emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Here's a little background:
> 
> 1806 is the year that Napoleon defeated the Holy Roman Empire at the Battle of Austerlitz. Emperor Francis II was the one who decided to dissolve the nation when he abdicated his throne. HRE was followed by the Confederation of the Rhine, a French satellite state created by Napoleon. In 1815, the German Confederation followed the end of the Napoleonic Wars and lasted until 1866. It's considered the predecessor for modern Germany, which is why I included the switch there.
> 
> 1866 is the year of the Austro-Prussian War. It lasted about two and a half months, and Austria was soundly defeated by Prussia. 
> 
> 1878 is the year of the Congress of Berlin. This is generally seen as the end to the Austria/Prussia rivalry, which is why it's included.
> 
> 1947 is, obviously, the year that Prussia was dissolved. The Soviet Union, the United States of America, the United Kingdom, and France all had votes on this issue, and are responsible for the official dissolution. However, blame can also be found in Hitler's attempt to combine the German and Prussian states into one country. This will be touched on later in the story.
> 
> And that's the history lesson! I put a lot of effort into my research - I want to make the story as realistic as possible. Comments are always appreciated! <33


	10. Edelweiss

He's silent for most of the car ride. Roderich's knuckles are white against the steering wheel. He's never heard - well, not heard - Gilbert be silent for this long. The Prussian's usually bursting with energy, usually has something to say - and he has to admit, even Gilbert's insistence on irritating him would be welcome right now. The silence is almost palpable - it hangs over them like fog, making every small noise tense and unwelcome. Clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak - but he doesn't know what to say. Wants to reach over and take Gilbert's hand, but - but they're not together like that, and he doesn't think Gilbert would appreciate it.

It's a relief when, finally, they arrive in Nuremburg. The guards at the city edge recognize Gilbert - and they bow to him, actually bow. The small smile that plays across Gilbert's lips is enough to lift Roderich's dark mood. He's smiling as they drive towards the address Ludwig had sent him an hour ago.

Gilbert doesn't even wait until the car is fully stopped before jumping out and running into the building. Roderich curses - parks on the side of the road and hurries in his most dignified way down the sidewalk and into the building. Gilbert's just disappearing around a corner. Follows him - is nervous, suddenly, and doesn't understand why.

He hears arguing and pauses just outside the conference room door.

"I need to make an example of them. Show them that my rule isn't to be contested."

"What happened to having mercy?"

"Mercy gets you killed. They'll be executed tonight. Is that understood?"

"Ja, Prussia."

Roderich takes a step into the room, and nearly collides with a flustered politician. Ludwig stands in a corner of the room, tense and stern-faced.

"Gilbert, I -" he begins.

"Save your breath, Roderich. Mein decision is final."

"Alright. I won't question your decision. But . . . are _you_ okay?"

Gilbert swallows. "Ja, don't worry about me." There are tears in the corners of his eyes, though. Roderich wants to hold him, promise him that everything is going to be okay - but it isn't, of course, it's never going to be okay, not as long as they have to live through this nightmare. Can't bring himself to go to Gilbert's side, not when Ludwig is watching - doesn't want to take the chance of Ludwig telling Gilbert his feelings.

Trades a glance with Ludwig. Gilbert's back is still turned - so Roderich motions toward the Prussian and mouths, _help him_.

Ludwig is - startled, to say the least, but quickly complies. Hesitates before putting a hand on Gilbert's shoulder - and Roderich remembers belatedly that Ludwig is shit at comforting everyone but Feliciano. Curses himself for being a coward - but then Gilbert's moving, tears are falling, and he's attaching himself to Ludwig like his brother is a lifeline. Ludwig's more than startled, now, but that fades into concern as he awkwardly pats Gilbert's back and mumbles words in German too faint for Roderich to hear.

He leaves them to their moment, happy to have done _something_ right for Gilbert.

 

Ludwig tucks the blankets around his brother's shoulders and brushes a few strands of hair from his sleeping face. Smiles, gently - hadn't realized how much Gilbert was bottling up. Thinks he should have known, but he's just happy that Gilbert opened up to him.

Walks down the hallway to his room. Isn't surprised to see that Feliciano's already curled up - but he's on top of the blankets, shivering in nothing but his boxers. Ludwig just barely holds back a smile - after all, the Italian is sort of cute like that, when he's sleeping peacefully. Taps Feliciano's shoulder.

"Feliciano. Wake up."

"Mm . . . Luddy? Is that you?"

"Ja, I'm home. Gilbert's asleep."

Feliciano sits up and rubs sleep from his eyes. "How is he?"

"He's . . . doing better. He had to do something today that he didn't want to do, and it took a toll on him. He's sleeping peacefully, now, and I think he'll be okay." There's still a smile on his face as he changes into his night clothes - a black t-shirt and red boxers, because it's _still_ too cold out to wear his usual tank top - and slips under the sheets. Feliciano leans against his stomach and smiles at him.

"Luddy, you're smiling! Did you and your fratello have a talk?"

"Ja, thanks to Roderich. Gilbert . . . mein bruder has very intense emotions sometimes, and he often needs someone to help calm him down. I am glad that I was able to do that for him today."

"That sounds nice." Feliciano's eyes are practically shining. "I wish fratello and I could have talks like that! But he just yells at me and runs away."

"Give him some time. He's dealing with things just like the rest of us. Maybe he's just not ready to talk yet."

"Luddy!" Feliciano gasps. "When did you get so wise?"

Ludwig chuckles. "You may be older, but that doesn't mean I can't be as wise as you."

Feliciano's cheeks redden. "I never meant it like that!"

"Ja, sure you didn't." He yawns. "How was your day?"

"Nothing really happened. Antonio came to say hi again, and he and fratello spent most of the day in the garden." He pouts. "I tried to go talk to them but Lovi didn't want me there."

Ludwig sighs. The older Italian's personality had always left something to be desired. "Maybe he's just not ready to talk to you yet. Mein bruder talked to Roderich, first, remember?"

Feliciano nods so hard that his one wayward curl bounces. "Si, si! And I remember you were very sad that you couldn't talk to him, because you kept mumbling in your sleep and you looked really, really unhappy and I always tried to wake you up, but I don't think you remember that because you always went right back to sleep after."

"I . . . what?"

"Nightmares! You were having nightmares, I think, or at least you look really unhappy in your sleep sometimes, and sometimes you mumble things, but they're always in German and I can never tell what you're saying."

Ludwig blinks - and then blinks again. Doesn't remember any nightmares. Doesn't remember dreaming at all, in fact. "Are you sure?"

"Si, I'm sure!"

"Hmm." Yawns again. "Tell me if I do it tonight, okay? Wake me up this time."

"Si, Luddy, I will. Don't worry! I'll protect you from the scary nightmares."

Feliciano makes a fierce expression, and Ludwig can't stop the smile that spreads across his face. Feels lighter than he has in years - almost happy, it seems. He's almost forgotten what happy is like. Settles down in the bed and lets Feliciano curl closer. Their legs and arms touch - and it's warm and comfortable and Ludwig feels safe like this, safer than he's ever felt before. Feliciano may not be good at protecting him - but he does a damn good job of making Ludwig feel protected. Sighs a little, and lets his eyes close.

"Buonanotte, Luddy."

"Ja, Feliciano. Gute Nacht."

 

Wakes up in the morning with a face full of Feliciano. Starts - and then exhales slowly. Feliciano's face is right next to his, almost as close as it can be. His hair is a disaster against the pillow, and his breathing is still even. Asleep.

Ludwig disentangles himself from the blankets and stands up, stretching out the stiff muscles in his back. Makes his way into the bathroom and goes through his daily ritual in a daze, still focused on the conversation he had with his brother yesterday. Yawns widely - and only realizes how tired he is when he starts to sway and has to grip the sink to stay upright. Shudders a little - and thinks about getting back in bed and falling asleep with Feliciano tucked against him like a blanket. Wants it so badly it's almost an ache - and then shakes it off and puts his uniform on and leaves the sleeping Italian. Downs a quick breakfast of cereal and an apple, and then gets in his car and starts driving.

It's a long drive to Berlin, and he really should start thinking about moving everyone into the capital. Doesn't know if Gilbert would like the move, though - in Nuremburg he's closer to his own capital and his own nation. Ludwig's exhausted, though, and it takes all of his focus to keep driving. Thinks, several times, that he could turn around and go home and have no one miss him at the meetings. But, no - he's made a decision, and he needs to run it past his boss before he can take action.

Sits through meeting after meeting before he's finally had enough. Excuses himself with fifteen minutes still left and sits outside the room, drinking his coffee black and trying to settle his frazzled nerves.

"Ah, Ludwig. There you are. Are you feeling alright?"

'Ja, sir, I'm fine. I just have one thing to pass by you, and then I'll be heading home."

"Ja, ja, follow me. How is Gilbert doing?"

"Much better now that the rebellion has been put down. He's stronger than ever, and getting stronger with every passing day."

"That's excellent news. I'm happy for the two of you. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a brother like that. How long have you known him?"

"My whole life," Ludwig says honestly. "He's my first memory. I was in a hospital tent - it was 1806, and the Holy Roman Empire was at war with France at the time. I had been born out of the Confederation of the Rhine that was created, and that later became German Confederation. I was - _am_ \- the original Germany."

His boss is amazed. "1806?" he questions. "Do you remember Bismarck?"

"Ja, of course. He was a great leader. There were . . . certain areas in which there was much to be desired, but he never lacked intelligence and careful planning. He's one of my favorite leaders, certainly."

"Incredible. To have all of history at your disposal like that, to have lived through it all . . ."

Ludwig swallows. "I mean no disrespect, sir, but this life comes with a price. I've seen countless people die for me or in opposition to me. I lived through the hell that was the world war trenches and I witness the genocide first hand. I couldn't lift a finger to stop it, even if I had wanted to. Hitler . . . was thorough, in my training." Feels the old memories start to force their way through and clamps down on them, struggling to keep his composure. "Mein bruder has been there for two hundred years. He's my first memory, and I want him to be my last. I couldn't lose him."

"Well, I certainly admire your dedication to your brother. And so far it's doing wonders for our economy - production is already double what it was, and it's only been a month. There are a hundred thousand news jobs in factories, and plenty of management opportunities. The people aren't going hungry anymore."

Ludwig feels a tiny bit of pride well up in his chest. His people aren't starving - he's done something _good_ with this war, something besides saving his brother. It's almost enough to make him dizzy with relief. Sags against the office chair across from his boss and muffles a yawn against the back of his hand.

"Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Extending the war," Ludwig says without preamble. "Wroclaw is reasonably industrial, and the majority of the area is pro-Prussian. It could aid the Prussian economy, which is struggling to get back on track right now."

His boss looks thoughtful. "If the Prussian economy goes down, so does ours. We're supplying most of their weaponry and funds right now. We can't afford another recession. Ja, I see your point."

Ludwig exhales. "I'm glad. I have a few ideas."

"I'm listening."

"We take Liberec and Mlada Boleslov. The Czech army is no match for us as it is, and most of their resources have been shifted to helping the overflow of refugees. It'll be easy to take those two cities and enlarge the Czech-Prussian territory. Then we enter Poland at Miloszów and Pieńsk. Swing the troops around and carve out a path towards Wroclaw. Walbrzych, Nysa, and up until we hit the city, then connect the two parts. I've already made contact with the leaders of the Polish-Prussian rebel army, and they've agreed to give full cooperation on this attack."

"What kind of cooperation are we talking about?"

"They already have a massive presence in Wroclaw. They can secure the city indefinitely while we carve out the area that we want."

His boss sits back and thinks. "Your plan has merits. I assume you've drafted a report?"

"Of course." He pulls the packet from his briefcase and places it in front of his boss. "There is also an influx of Austrian soldiers securing the Prussian border, which means we have troops to spare."

"You've really planned this out carefully," his boss says as he flips through the packet of war plans. "I'm impressed, Ludwig." Then he pauses. "Poznan? You intend to take Poznan?"

"Ja." Ludwig swallows. "I intend to follow the line of the major highway from Poznan to Koszalin and win Prussia a seaport."

"Well . . . I don't see how we can fail, with this plan. I approve."

Relief washes through him. "Danke. Danke."

"Now, go get some rest. I'd like to implement this plan sooner, rather than later - catching the Czechs and Poles by surprise is going to be our greatest advantage. Go get some sleep. I'll update you in the morning, so keep your phone on you."

"Ja, danke." He stands - he can feel how exhausted he is, almost sways on his feet - but shakes his boss's hand and thanks him again and makes his way out of the building and to his car. Starts it - and enjoys the long drive back to Nuremburg for once, because he knows that he'll be greeted to dinner and the care of a certain Italian.

 

Pain is all he can feel. It's everywhere, _everywhere_ \- blinding and bruising and beating him down until his muscles give out and he collapses on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Can't stop the tremors that wrack his body, shaking and gasping for air on the floor as he begs for it to end, for him to fall unconscious.

Thinks he blacks out - because the next thing he knows is that there are arms around his waist, hugging him tight against a small chest. Whimpers and presses closer.

"Feliks, what's going on?"

"Invasion," Feliks sobs. "I t-told you! He's come for me, h-h-he's g-going to t-take my land -"

"Shh. Block out the pain. Distance yourself from it."

"I c-c-c-can't!"

"You can. I know you can. I've seen you do it before. You're strong, Feliks, so strong. Don't let him break you like this. You can fight it."

Feliks tries. Pushes at the part of his mind that's connected to the land - pushes, harder and harder, until he manages to shove it into the darkest corner of his mind. It doesn't stop completely - he can still feel an echo of the pain, but it's bearable, now. Whimpers again and throws his arms around Toris.

"There. See? You did it." Toris strokes his hair and kisses the top of his head. "You did good, Feliks. You can sleep now."

"D-Don't want to dream." Can't stop the shaking, though - he thinks it's a human thing, a _panic_ thing.

"I'll be right here with you. I'll protect you."

"C-Can't. Not now. I-I'm in a w-war, Liet."

"I don't care. I'll still fight for you, no matter what. I love you."

It's enough to ease some of his nerves. The shaking slows - doesn't stop, but slows until it's more manageable. Sighs and nestles against Toris' chest. "Love you, too, Liet."

 

"Ludwig's done _what_."

His voice is flat - too flat, he realizes dimly - there's hardly any emotion in there, and Francis actually _flinches_. Barely has time to feel guilty before the Frenchman turns away and crosses his arms.

"He moved into Poland late last night. He took a few cities in the Czech, just trying to connect it to Poland, and made it as far as Zlotoryja before his troops needs to stop and refuel. That's where they're sitting now."

"Fuck."

"And there was a coordinated at on Wroclaw. Polish-Prussian resistors took the city in a matter of hours, incapacitating the local law enforcement."

" _Fuck_."

"Do I need to wash your mouth out with soap?"

"This is no time for your damn innuendos, pervert. This is serious."

"I am well aware, Angleterre. What do you plan to do?"

"It's obvious, isn't it?" His words are sharp - distantly thinks that he needs to _shut up_ \- but he keeps talking, keeps yelling. "I'm the only one in any position to attack right now. My troops are the closest, and my navy is superior to both of yours. I'll stage an attack by moving in from northern Poland, combine my troops with Feliks', and push the bloody Germans back into their own bloody territory."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Matthew says softly. "It sounds like D Day. That was a massive invasion. You can't possibly plan an attack in the next few days."

"I can and I will. I'll be ready to go in two days' time, you mark my words."

"Angleterre, think this through, please. Can you handle this?"

Arthur's eyes narrow. "What the fuck do you mean? Of course I can handle this, I'm the bloody fucking United Kingdom! I was an empire once, bloody Frog. I think I can handle myself in war."

Francis flinches back again, eyes wide - and then Matthew's between them, pushing Arthur back. _When did he get so strong?_

"That's enough." His voice is still soft, but there's a hint of authority underneath it. "Arthur, go do whatever you need to do. Leave Papa alone for a little while."

Arthur has the presence of mind to feel guilty for snapping at Francis - and lets Matthew usher him from the room. The door is slammed and locked behind him.

He goes to his meeting like he'd planned - but he can't shake the unease that lingers.

Finds Francis' room later that night. It's past eleven, his meetings ran late - and he's hoping that Francis is up, so he can apologize. Goes to knock - but then tries the doorknob and pushes it open, slowly. He's thankful when it doesn't squeak.

Francis is illuminated against the window, looking down at the Paris scenery. Can just barely make out the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

He's asleep, Arthur realizes when he sneaks closer.

Sighs. Puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes gently. Francis doesn't stir. Rolls his eyes and hooks one arm under Francis' knees and the other against his back, and carries him to the bed. Tucks him under the blankets and turns to leave when one of Francis' hands latches onto his and holds. Sighs again - but what can he do, really? He pulls back the blankets and slips in beside the Frenchman.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Je sais. Bonne nuit."

"Good night, Francis."

 

Ludwig's back in time for dinner. Sits at the table with Gilbert and Roderich and Feliciano and Eliza, and even Lovino. There's talk and laughter and jokes - and it's more than he's ever hoped for. He's got a family, finally, and it's the best thing he could ever imagine. Feliciano's next to him, chattering away, and Gilbert's looking healthier than he ever has, especially with the way he and Eliza tease back and forth. Roderich joins in, sometimes, but ends up flustered and fuming. Lovino's sullen and grouchy, but - he's making an effort, and actual _effort_ , and it's more than Ludwig ever thought he'd have.

Gilbert manages to force two beers into him, and by the time he's done he's ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Feliciano tags along - and the bed is warmer with him, chasing away the late April night chill. Ludwig settles down, feeling peaceful.

He could really get used to this.

 

Gilbert smirks - and watches Eliza excuse herself.

"What?" he asks. "Don't you want to see drunk Roderich?"

She laughs and messes up Gilbert's hair. He slaps her hands away, but grins and sticks his tongue out. Damn, it's good to have her here.

"It's something I've seen before, remember?" she says with a wink. "Besides, I've got a meeting in Budapest this weekend, so I've got to pack. I'll be leaving in the morning."

"Oh. How long?"

"Few days. Why, are you going to miss me?"

"Hell no, but Roderich might."

Eliza laughs again. "Sure, Gil. I believe you." She walks out of the room.

Gilbert turns back to Roderich.  The Austrian's eyes are unfocused. He can almost _feel_ how drunk Roderich must be.

"Shit, Roddy, you really are a lightweight."

"Shut up," Roderich mumbles. His cravat is laying discarded on the table. Gilbert can see the smooth expanse of pale white skin. A shiver runs up his spine and - yeah, he really shouldn't be thinking like this. Looks down and clenches his fists and tries to ignore the way that heat flares in his stomach. Bites down on his lip - and yeah, this isn't working. He's not drunk, but he's pleasantly buzzed. Spares a moment to think that it would be really, _really_ easy to sleep with Roderich tonight - and then clamps down on that thought. Roderich's drunk. He can't take advantage of the Austrian's trust like that.

So he grabs Roderich's elbow and helps him stand. Roderich sways for a moment, and then leans back against Gilbert's chest and giggles - actually _giggles_. And then Gilbert starts laughing, harder and harder - until they're both leaning against each other and laughing and clutching their stomachs.

Roderich's laughter fades slowly - and then he's clutching Gilbert's chest and staring at his lips and - and Gilbert goes still, very still. Hardly dares to breathe. Time seems to stop, and the world narrows down to Roderich's eyes as they slide up from his lips to his eyes - sucks in a breath and bites down on his lip, heat spiking in his veins.

Then Roderich yawns.

Gilbert regains enough presence of mind to put some space between them - hands on Roderich's arm, only, leading him towards the stairs.

"Bed," he says.

"But -"

"No buts. Bed time."

Manages to get Roderich up the stairs and tucks him in bed - he's horribly drowsy, now, drifting in and out of sleep as Gilbert yanks off his shoes and tries to pull his jacket off.

"Come . . ."

Roderich's making motions with his hands, and Gilbert's too exhausted to be able to tell what they are. Drops Roderich's coat on the floor and falls forward, landing next to Roderich with a muffled _oomph_.

"Stay."

Doesn't register the word at first - and then Roderich's crowding close, head on Gilbert's chest and arms wrapped around his waist. Gilbert stiffens - but then relaxes and lets his eyes close. Roderich is warm, warmer than Gilbert would be on his own, and it's nice, almost peaceful with him like this, even drunk. Let's himself return the embrace - slips his arms around Roderich's shoulders and tugs him in as close as he can be. Sighs happily - it feels right, like this, being held like this. Can't deny that he wants this - he wants it with every fiber of his being. But he can't bring himself to risk his friendship with Roderich.

Swallows past the fear - and closes his eyes, settles back against the bed and tightens his grip around Roderich. The Austrian breathes this happy little sigh and mumbles - it sounds like Gilbert's name, but he refuses to let himself hope. Pushes it out of his mind and just lets the peace and warmth wash over him. Slips off to sleep with the feeling of Roderich pressed tight against him, holding him.

 

Sleeps through until morning. Doesn't wake until Roderich starts stirring and groaning. Blinks his eyes open and watches the pain flicker across Roderich's face. They've moved in their sleep - Roderich's got his arms tight around Gilbert's waist and is tucked against Gilbert's shoulder, their faces almost touching.

"Ugh. How much did I drink last night?"

"That depends. How much do you remember?"

Roderich seems to remember, at that moment, how close they are. Jerks back with wide eyes. "We . . . we didn't . . ."

"Nein, I wouldn't do that to you when you're drunk." He's almost insulted that Roderich would think otherwise. But, then again, he's never given Roderich a reason to trust him, before this.

Roderich groans again and slumps back against Gilbert. "The light hurts."

"Then close your eyes. Want me to get you some water?"

"Nein, you're warm, don't move."

Gilbert chuckles and cautiously slides an arm back around Roderich's shoulders, tucking him closer. Swallows when Roderich's fingers fist in his shirt.

"So what happened last night?" Roderich's voice is hoarse.

"Nothing, really. You were drunk off your ass so I brought you up to bed. You wouldn't let me leave, and I was too tired to argue."

"Ah." Roderich falls silent. The only sound in the room is his quiet, even breathing. Gilbert wonders if he fell back asleep - but checking would mean moving, and he doesn't want to risk waking him up. Besides, it's nice laying like this, with him - even if his breathing is a little more erratic than he'd like.

"Are you okay?"

He's startled out of his thoughts - swallows, and tries to calm his breathing as much as he can.

"Yeah, fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"I am."

"Gil -"

"Roddy, in case you didn't realize, I drank last night, too. You're not the only one hung over." He throws his arm over his eyes to further emphasize his point.

"Oh, sorry." Roderich's voice drops to a gentle whisper. "Should I . . . get you anything?"

"Nein, I'll be fine." Slides his hands up Roderich's back and curls his fingers in the dark hair. Smiles at little when Roderich sighs and all but melts into his side.

"That . . . feels really good." Roderich's voice has gone a little breathless, and it's softer than normal. Gilbert's arms tighten - and then relax. Can't push, can't make this feel like _more_ \- because it'll only hurt more when it finally breaks, finally turns into something that rips apart his heart, just like everything else in his life.

Keeps doing it, though. Keeps brushing his fingers through the dark strands of hair and rubbing his fingers in little circles all along Roderich's scalp - and he can _feel_ Roderich relax, can feel him melt against his side. There's this little breathy sigh that makes warmth bloom in Gilbert's chest - and yeah, he's pretty fucked. Can't stop himself from falling a little more in love with this man every time they're together like this. And now, with Roderich all limp and pliant against his side, _happy_ to be there, it's taking every shred of self-control to keep himself from ruining the moment, from kissing Roderich breathless.

Bites his lip and keeps his hand as steady as he can. Is proud of himself - he's managing to keep the shaking from his hands, even though he feels like he's going to fall apart any second now.

"Gilbert."

Roderich's voice is drowsy and content. Gilbert bites his lip harder.

"You're tense." It comes out half slurred as Roderich's hands tighten in his shirt. "Whatever you're thinking about . . . it's okay. Promise. Jus' . . . relax, 'kay?"

He's half asleep, judging by the way he's looking at Gilbert - eyes lidded, silly little smile stretched across his face - it's something Gilbert's seen rarely, maybe once or twice in all the years he's known Roderich. Seen it - the night of Roderich and Eliza's wedding, the night their rivalry ended and - and the night Gilbert found out he was going to live.

It's funny, how two of those times were with Gilbert.

Can't let himself hope, though. Thinks the heartbreak, the rejection, might kill him for good. Can't picture a life without this man by his side, in his arms. Doesn't want to have to live without Roderich.

"Relax," Roderich murmurs again. His eyes are more closed than open, now, and he's leaning heavily on Gilbert's side, like it's too much effort to hold himself up enough to look at Gilbert. "Don't worry so much. S'not good for you."

Chuckles. Ruffles Roderich's hair. "You just pass out, okay? Don't worry about me, I'm fine."

"Not fine." Roderich's lips are pulling into the most adorably sleepy pout Gilbert's ever seen. He reaches up with one hand and brushes his fingertips against Gilbert's cheek. "You sleep, too."

"I'll try." Gilbert swallows. There's heat in his cheeks that must be painfully obvious - but Roderich doesn't seem to notice. Takes a deep breath - tugs Roderich closer - and clears his throat.

"Sleep," Roderich mumbles.

"Ja, sleep." Brushes a few strands of hair out of Roderich's face, and takes another deep breath. He can do this. He can.

Waits until he's sure that Roderich's at least semi paying attention.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss," he sings softly, as soft and gentle as he can, "every morning you greet me. Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me."

Roderich's entire face breaks into a radiant smile - and Gilbert loses all of his air. Trips over his words until he manages to suck in a breath.

"Small and white, clean and bright, you look happy to meet me."

"Gilbert," Roderich breathes.

"Shh. Just relax. Blossom of snow may you bloom and grow, bloom and grow forever."

Roderich's voice joins him for the last line.

"Edelweiss, edelweiss, bless my homeland forever."

Gilbert's cheeks are on fire and his skin is tingling and he feels like he's falling - and it's all worth it, for the way Roderich's breath evens out with one last happy little sigh, limbs going limp as he nestles into Gilbert's side. Worth it for the way Gilbert can pull him closer, now, and bury his face in Roderich's hair and breathe, just _breathe_ \- and it smells like home, and safety, and Gilbert's sure, now, that he'll never be able to love someone as much as he loves Roderich right now, in this very moment.

And he's never going to give it up, not for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated! <33


	11. Memories to Forget

Arthur's awake and struggling - there's a weight on his chest, pressing _down_ \- before he realizes what's on top of him. Goes still - Francis is curled up on his chest, shaking. Wonders how he got there. When he'd fallen asleep, Francis was on the other side of the bed, doing his best not to touch Arthur.

Francis shakes harder and - and Arthur has no idea what to do. Touches Francis' shoulder and shakes it, lightly, but Francis doesn't so much as stir. Swallows - he's used to dealing with nightmares, he's had them for as long as he can remember, but it's been over fifty years since he's had to deal with anyone else's. Isn't sure what to do. Sits up and settles for hooking his arms around Francis' waist and tugging him closer, until Francis' head is rest against his shoulder. Rubs a hand down Francis' and flinches when he feels every knob of his spine, every tense muscle.

"Shh, Francis." He tries to keep his voice as soft and soothing as possible. Can't quite keep the shake out of it. "Shh, you're okay, it's okay, you just have to open your eyes and the bad things will disappear. Come on, open your eyes, you can do it, I'm right here, it's okay."

There's a moment where Francis tense - every muscle in his body seizing up, like a rock against Arthur's chest - and then he exhales, loudly, almost a whimper, and slumps against Arthur. Goes limp and loose, like all the strength has gone out of him. A broken sob leaves his lips - and Arthur bites his lip and tugs the Frenchman closer as a wave of protectiveness washes over him.

"Are you alright?" His voice is rough, far rougher than it should be.

"No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's . . ." Francis swallows, "I don't know."

"I'm here. If . . . if you want to talk."

Francis sighs. "Merci, Arthur."

It's quiet for a while. Arthur keeps holding Francis - knows, from experience, that Francis needs to not feel alone after his nightmares. Just rests his head against Francis' and breathes slowly, until Francis' breathing matches his.

"Better?"

"Oui." Francis' voice is softer, less strained, now. "M-Merci, for helping."

"Don't mention it. Really, it's not a problem. I'm just glad I still remember how to help you."

Francis' laugh is shaky. "Those were . . . bad nightmares, back then. This one wasn't as bad, but . . ." He bites his lip. "Arthur, I think . . . it's coming back."

Arthur stills. Tightens his arms around Francis' waist almost instinctively. "What makes you think that?"

"The nightmares . . . I've been having -" swallows, "flashbacks. And I've been feeling sort of . . . detached, I think is the right word."

Arthur exhales slowly. "Yeah. I think it's back."

"What am I -" Francis swallows. again, and presses tighter against Arthur's chest. "How do I stop it?"

"I don't know if you can. But I'll be right here, okay? You don't have to go through this alone." Swallows past the block in his throat.

Francis shudders and clenches his hands in Arthur's shirt. "I . . . don't want to be alone."

Arthur runs a hand through Francis' wavy hair. "Shh. You're not alone. I promise."

"Bon." Francis settles closer to Arthur and sighs. "I'm . . . not that tired anymore. If you want to go back to sleep, I'll be fine on my own."

Arthur raises an eyebrow, even though Francis can't see him. "Are you sure? I can stay awake."

"Non, non, you already don't sleep enough as it is." Francis' voice starts to shake a little - barely, but Arthur's learned to be good at hearing it. "I'll be fine on my own, really."

"Bullshit. Come on, let me make you some tea. There's no point in staying in bed if we aren't going to sleep."

Takes Francis' hand and pulls, pulls him until he starts moving, sliding his legs off the bed. He's shaky when he stands - so he leans on Arthur until he regains his balance, and even then he doesn't let go. Arthur's heart is pounding out an irregular rhythm, and it's all he can do to keep his hands from shaking at how close Francis is.

They make it down to the kitchen, somehow, with Francis still leaning against Arthur's side. Arthur gets him in a chair and runs a hand through his hair before he starts making the tea. There's silence as he starts it, but it's comfortable. There's no pressure to talk, to fill the silence with meaningless chatter, and Arthur's always appreciated that about Francis. He knows how to be quiet.

Well, sometimes, at least.

Francis is yawning by the time Arthur sets a cup of tea in front of him. Takes the cup and sips at it, hands starting to shake again. Arthur sits beside him and rubs a hand down his back, wishing he could soothe away all the tension. It seems to work, at least a little - Francis sighs and leans into it, cup dangerously close to slipping.

"Careful, Francis," Arthur murmurs. "Don't drop your cup."

"Mm." Francis sets it down and leans on the table, head in his arms. "I . . . think I'm tired now."

"Alright. Come on, I'll help you back to bed."

"Too far," Francis mumbles. His eyes are half closed already. "Couch."

"No, no, you've got to get back in bed. Your couches are bloody awful for sleeping on. I should know, I've spent a few nights there."

"Mm." Francis doesn't argue when Arthur leads him back to the bedroom. Walks like he's in a daze - eyes more closed than open, leaning against Arthur's side like he's lost all will to walk on his own. Nearly collapses onto his bed and curls up, ignoring the blankets as he closes his eyes and yawns. Arthur slips in on his other side and pulls the blankets up, tucking them carefully around Francis' shoulders. His heart is in his throat as he stares at Francis' less-than-peaceful face. Wishes he could _do_ something, something more than make him tea and make sure he sleeps alright. Thinks he doesn't deserve to have to go through this, not after everything he had to endure in the forties.

"Good night, Francis."

Francis is already asleep, back turned to Arthur, knees pulled up as close to his chest as they'll go, arms tight around them. Arthur runs a hand down his back again, rubbing gently. Swallows - wants to make Francis' problems go away. Has never felt so protective of anyone, not even Alfred, and - and it scares him, sometimes, but he's gotten better at not letting fear hold him back. Still. Can't imagine telling Francis. Doesn't think he could handle the rejection. Doesn't want that awkward space between them.

_It has to be enough_ , he reminds himself. _His friendship has to be enough for me, because the alternative is worse, so much worse_.

He's not sure how much longer he can last, though.

 

The world is dark when Feliks opens his eyes.

Panics, at first - can't see, can't tell where he is - until he wakes up, fully, and then sags against the arms around his waist, panting a little as his eyes finally adjust.

"Feliks, are you okay?"

He can just make out Toris' outline in the dark.

"I will be," he whispers. "It's . . . why is it, like, so dark in here?"

"It's the middle of the night."

Toris' voice is drowsy, and it sends little chills of affection down Feliks' spine. Grins, despite the pain trying to crowd its way to the center of his mind, and nestles a little closer.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Liet," he whispers. "Go back to sleep."

Toris yawns, widely, and puts his head on Feliks' shoulder. "Mm . . . sleep." Yawns again. "Oh, by the way, Arthur called while you were asleep. He's coming to a meeting with you and your boss tomorrow, to talk about how he's going to help you this time."

"Thank God." His heart beats faster, though - doesn't think all of England could keep his land from being overrun by the Germans. Ludwig's on a mission, this time, and it's personal. Knows Ludwig, knows how much he cares for his brother - and Feliks can't hate him for that, not at all, because he'd do the same thing for Toris in a heartbeat. He just wishes it didn't have to be his land.

"Yeah. See, I told you: things will get better. You just have to be patient."

Toris' words are starting to slur, a little, and Feliks giggles. Tugs Toris closer and curls a hand in his wavy hair and presses a kiss to his forehead.

"You need sleep, Liet. Don't worry about me, I'll be okay until morning."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Wake me up -" yawns, and curls closer, "if you need me, okay?"

"Will do, sleepy."

Toris hums - and he's asleep within seconds, breathing even and peaceful. Feliks lets the sound of it, and Toris' warmth, lull him back to sleep.

 

Eliza's almost done packing when Roderich comes in.

He watches her for a moment - he used to be married to her, but he can't feel any of that old attraction anymore. Doesn't know where it went.

"Hey, Roddy."

Scowls. "Why does everyone insist on calling me that? It's a ridiculous nickname."

"I take it 'everyone' means Gilbert." Eliza flashes a grin at him and set her things down. "You know, you're complete shit at hiding your feelings."

Roderich sighs. "He doesn't know."

Eliza snorts. "That's because he's a dumbass." Her eyes soften, though. "You have to tell him, Roderich. You can't keep going on like this. It's going to drive you insane."

"I'm not telling him." He swallows. "I can't mess this up with him. And he's going through enough right now without adding me in there."

"Exactly - he's going through a lot, Roderich, and maybe it'd be a little easier on him if he had someone to share it with and to help him through it. Have you ever considered that? He relies on you now, doesn't he? Wouldn't it be easier if you were together?"

Roderich turns his head away. "I came here to say goodbye, not to discuss my feelings for Gilbert."

"You're both idiots." Eliza shakes her head and crosses her arms. "I can't believe I'm still friends with either of you."

"It's a miracle, really, that anyone can be friends with Gilbert."

Eliza throws her head back and laughs. "Too true, Roddy." She shoulders her bag and smiles at him. "Well, I'll see the two of you soon. I'd love to stay, but I'm far too lazy to drive back and forth from Budapest every day. That's way too much time in a car for me."

"Ja, that's understandable. Do you know how long you'll be gone?"

"Should only be a few days, but it depends on how well the conference goes. Some of the higher ups aren't completely thrilled that I convinced my boss to join the war. There's going to be hell to pay for some of my . . . recent actions."

Roderich raises an eyebrow. "What kind of actions?"

Eliza's smile turns sheepish. "You don't want to know."

"Eliza."

"Alright, so, I may have insulted a few of them when they kept arguing against me."

"What exactly did you call them?"

Eliza sighs. "A self-righteous aggravating bastard with no morals and a balding hypocrite."

He's not going to laugh. He's not. It's terrible, really, but probably true. Smiles a little wider - and coughs to cover a laugh.

"Maybe you should apologize."

"Like hell I will. Every word of it was true."

"That's not going to help, though."

Eliza sighs. "Why must politics be so frustrating? I'd rather kick some ass than sit in a conference room and debate everything."

"You'll just have to grit your teeth and bear it. Shouldn't you be used to that by now?"

"Being used to it doesn't mean it's any less frustrating."

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Lizzy. It has to be done."

"I know, I know. I want to protect that bastard as much as you do, you know. He's my brother, as much as I wish it were otherwise." She sniffs and then rolls her eyes. "He's such a pain in the ass, I don't know why I even bother anymore." She's grinning, though.

Roderich smiles a little wider. "He has this way about him that makes people want to protect him. He may be a righteous asshole, but he's still important to us. He's worth it."

"Ja, I suppose you're right. Hey, we should prank him!"

"What kind of prank are you talking about?" Roderich asks warily.

Eliza grins. "Let's paint his nails while he's asleep."

Roderich snorts. "You can. I'll likely be asleep, as well."

"With him?"

"Maybe." Heat rises to his cheeks. "Does it matter?"

"Idiots. You're both idiots." Eliza shakes her head. "Well, I guess I should be off now."

"I'll walk you to the door."

He takes her arm - he's a gentleman, after all - and leads her down the staircase. She stops at the door and kisses his cheek - and then she's gone.

He takes his time walking back upstairs. He can remember his years married to Eliza like they were yesterday - they were some of the happiest years of his life. But now, with Gilbert waiting for him upstairs, he can't remember how he had fallen in love with Eliza.

She was a beautiful woman, of that there was no doubt, and he never would have agreed to the wedding if he didn't have _some_ feelings for her. There's doubt, though - had he even really loved her, or had she been a filler? A body to sleep next to when he couldn't have Gilbert?

He's almost ashamed of his thinking. Eliza deserves far more than that. They aren't married anymore, but they're close friends and Roderich still cares a great deal about her.

She's not Gilbert, though.

Things were easy with her. Roderich could go through the day lost in thought, playing as much as he wanted with Eliza bothering him. He was free to do whatever he wished - play in concerts, teach private lessons, join orchestras - and Eliza always supported his decisions. Always made him laugh, always made the darker years seem brighter.

With Gilbert, though - there was none of that. Gilbert was loud and obnoxious, and took joy in making sure that Roderich doesn't have a moment of peace to himself. He constantly needs to be the center of attention - but Roderich has never minded. Has never tried to make Gilbert leave him alone. And he's come to realize, over the past decade of not having Gilbert around, that he misses the stupid albino when he's not there. Misses having to fuss over whatever ridiculous antic Gilbert's attempting to do that day. Misses being forced to join in his chaotic baking sessions or wild concerts. Misses being forced out of his comfort zone - even if it's something as simple as wearing casual clothes for the day. Misses the way Gilbert challenges, forces him to be _better_ \- and if that isn't love, Roderich isn't sure what is.

Slips back into the bedroom silently, and watches Gilbert's chest rise and fall for the longest time. It's a miracle that he's alive, really. Roderich knows this. Knows he's never going to take it for granted after everything he's gone through with the Prussian. Living is what matters - as long as they're together.

"You gonna stand there and stare at me all day, or are you going to come back and keep me warm?"

Roderich's smile turns soft. "I was just saying goodbye to Lizzy."

"She's gone?"

"Ja."

"Damn, I wanted to say goodbye."

He crosses the room - slowly, carefully. Slips under the blankets and slides closer to Gilbert. Everything seems like it's happening in slow motion - the way Gilbert's arms snake around his waist and pull him closer, so gentle and careful; the way his head comes down to rest on Gilbert's chest; the way Gilbert's breathing evens out. Feels like something _more_. Doesn't know if it's real - but he's damn sure going to enjoy it while it lasts. Curls closer and lets himself relax into Gilbert's arms - and there's an ache in his heart, but it's softer, gentler, now. Closes his eyes and breathes in. Gilbert smells like home - like coffee beans and vanilla and something warm, something _personal_. Sighs, softly. It's easy to relax, easy to let himself be lulled back to sleep by Gilbert's quiet breathing.

 

Arthur's hands shake all through the meeting. Feliks looks like shit - though, Arthur didn't really expect anything else. He's not surprised, either, that Toris is there. The two were always close, and he's glad to see that there are still nations that can be happy with other nations. Sometimes, it just seems like those relationships are doomed to fail before they even start.

Like Francis.

He forces his mind away from the waiting Frenchman and does his best to keep Feliks calm. The Polish man is obviously upset - Arthur hasn't had to face an invasion in a long, long time, and he's going to be forever grateful that his nation is an island. Can still remember Francis' haunted eyes during Germany's invasion - will never forget it, probably, and even now, even seventy years later, it still hurts to think of how much pain Francis was in.

"So, like, what exactly are you planning?"

"I want your permission," Arthur explains, "to stage a minor land invasion. My troops will join yours in the north and travel south, to where the German soldiers are camped, and fight them there. You'll have the home field advantage, and my troops will back yours up."

"Do you think it'll work?"

"The Germans are still focused on securing Plzeň. They won't be able to marshal in time to prevent us from taking back your land."

Feliks seems satisfied. "I like the way you think. Alright, Brit. When do you, like, want to do this?"

"Tomorrow?"

Toris nearly drops his glass. "Tomorrow? Are you crazy?"

"I know, moving troops takes a massive coordinated effort, and it's hard to keep it a secret. Think of it this way: the sooner this happens, the less time the Germans have to prepare. Catching them unaware is best right now."

"What about Austrian and Hungarian troops?"

Arthur frowns. "I haven't heard of their mobilization yet. It'll take them more time to travel, too, since they're farther away."

"They're only a few hours away, Arthur." Toris' voice is firm. "Attacking tomorrow is practically a suicide mission!"

Arthur slams his hand down on the table. "What the bloody hell do you want me to do? The longer we put this off, the stronger the Germans grow. I can have Canadian troops in there within a week. Maybe a little longer. If we can hold out that much, and try to reclaim Wroclaw, we'll be that much closer to end this stupid fucking war."

Silence follows his outburst. Feliks looks close to tears. Toris' grip on his cup is so tight that his knuckles are starting to turn white.

Arthur swallows back his anger and frustrations and tries to keep his voice calm.

"I want this war over with just as much as you do. They've been bombing me already. The nights are hell, now, and Francis -" he cuts off - Francis would murder him if Arthur mentioned his _problem_.

"I know." Toris' voice is sympathetic, now, and his eyes are softer. "Feliks had a rough night the first night Germany invaded."

"I'm sorry. I never meant for this to happen."

"No one did, Arthur. There was nothing you could do to stop it."

Arthur swallows again. "It's my fault, though."

"How?"

"I - I was one of the ones who voted to dissolve Prussia. I didn't know . . . I had no idea it would end like this. I thought - I had no idea what I was thinking, but it wasn't this. I just wanted to protect everyone. If it weren't for Bismarck . . ."

"You can't blame yourself for this, Arthur."

He turns away - he doesn't want Feliks' sympathy. It's his fault - he'd pushed Alfred into voting yes - and he doesn't deserve forgiveness for what he's done. Stands up - if they're in agreement, then it's time for him to leave.

"I'll land my troops in Gdańsk, if that's alright with you. We'll work together on this, Feliks. Like we should have done seventy years ago."

Feliks' smile is sad. "I don't blame you for anything, Arthur."

Arthur leaves before the tears come.

 

Ludwig's in the kitchen when the phone rings. Feliciano is sitting next to him - he's always with Ludwig, these days, and he likes it more than the weeks they spent apart, sometimes without talking. Ludwig's always been troubled by the actions he took in the second world war - Feliciano understands, he's seen the terror and heartbreak and agony of war, and doesn't want Ludwig to hurt over it. Understands that Ludwig sometimes needs time to himself, time to remember and mourn the deaths that he caused, and the things he couldn't stop. But he also understands that if he doesn't stay, if Ludwig has to go through this new war without Feliciano by his side, that Ludwig's going to come out of this changed - and not in a good way. Doesn't think he could stand to see his best friend hardened from war, not again, not after last time.

He remembers Ludwig's eyes in the very moment Hitler committed suicide. They'd been in Ludwig's home in Berlin - Ludwig furiously trying to get back to the fight, to his people, even though he was nearly dead from exhaustion, while Feliciano tried to push him back into bed. A shudder had gone through his whole body. He'd gone still. And then the light had gone out of his eyes, like a candle being blown out in a sudden gust of wind. He'd collapsed on the bed - was inconsolable for hours. Remembers holding him as tight as he could, and Ludwig sobbing into his chest until his shirt was damp from tears.

It's not something Feliciano likes to remember.

He's gotten good, though, at reading the emotions in Ludwig's eyes. He's had plenty of practice over the years of them being together. Ludwig doesn't like to show emotion - Feliciano knows he's been learned, over the years, that it's better to be emotionless than to hurt all the time - but not showing them is different than not having them. Knows that Ludwig feels more than most, probably more than any other nation or human. And it's hard, so hard, to get him to open up.

Now isn't one of those times.

The phone is slammed onto the table - Feliciano's dimly surprised that it didn't break - and Ludwig exhales loudly. There's a fire in his eyes scares Feliciano - not that he'd ever admit it.

"Verdammt," he mutters.

"What is it, Luddy?"

"English troops landed in Gdańsk during the night. They're closing in on my troops." He rubs a hand across his eyes. "Verdammt."

"Is there anything I can do to help? Do you need more troops?"

"Nein, my force in Poland is strong, now that they're aided by the rebels. I was hoping to get through this without bloodshed, though. I didn't want mein people to die unnecessarily."

"It's not unnecessarily," Feliciano reminds him softly. "You're doing this for Gilbert."

"Ja, but mein people aren't. I . . . don't know what to do, Feliciano."

He takes one of Ludwig's hands in both of his and squeezes it. "Just keep doing what you're doing, Luddy. You saved Gilbert's life, remember? Your brother is alive and well, and it's all thanks to you. You're not a bad person."

Ludwig inhales - and then sighs, letting it all out in one big breath. "Ja, you're right. I need to stop focusing on the negative."

"Ve, how about I make some pasta? Pasta is happy!"

Ludwig shakes his head a little, but he's smiling. "Sure, Feliciano. Pasta sounds nice."

Feliciano's not a fool - he knows that people get sick of his pasta. Even Lovi yells at him for making too much pasta.

It's the only thing he knows how to do well, though.

He's not good at fighting, or being a soldier, or politics, or helping people, or protecting the people he loves. He's only good at running - when it's away from something that scares him - and cooking pasta. Cooking pasta seems like the better option, here. It can make Ludwig smile, at least, and that's always a good thing.

Ludwig needs to smile more. It makes his face less stern - and stern is scary, sometimes. Feliciano can still remember meeting the tall German for the first time - how he was terrified that Ludwig was going to hurt him, or do something mean to him. Now, he can't believe he ever thought that. Sure, his stern face can be terrifying, but there's nothing mean about Ludwig. He's fiercely protective, loyal, and one of the smartest people Feliciano knows. Doesn't think there's anyone better in the world than Ludwig.

"Feliciano? You're staring,"

Heat rises to his cheeks. "Ah! Mi dispiace, I didn't mean to! I was just thinking about something and I didn't realize I was staring and I'm sorry, I'll go make the pasta now!"

Ludwig chuckles - and it's the nicest sound Feliciano's ever heard. Thinks, dimly, that he should _move_ now - _stop staring and get off your ass_ \- but then Ludwig's hand, which he still hasn't let go of, squeezes back.

"Danke, Feliciano. For helping me. You're a good friend."

Something painfully warm blooms in Feliciano's chest. He throws his arms around Ludwig's shoulders. as much as he can because _wow, Ludwig's shoulders_ \- and hugs him as tightly as he can. Then one of Ludwig's arms wraps around his waist and returns the hug, and Feliciano nearly passes out.

Manages to take a shaky breath - hides against Ludwig's neck, because his face is _so red_ , and Ludwig doesn't need to see that - Ludwig's _not gay_ , which has been painfully obvious, and Feliciano will be damned if he screws this up. Doesn't think his heart could take seeing Ludwig's face twist in disgust. Or worse - he accepts it, doesn't care about it, but pulls away, doesn't let Feliciano as close anymore. Neither option is very pleasant.

Finally pulls back when his face is less red - and smiles his brightest at Ludwig.

"Prego! That's what friends are for, si? I wouldn't be a very good friend if I left you to deal with all of this on your own!"

"Ja, that is true. Still . . . I wouldn't have expected you to do this for me."

Feliciano's expression falls - does Ludwig think that Feliciano doesn't care? - and Ludwig hurries on, nearly tripping over his words.

"It's just - I know how you feel about war, Feliciano. I know it scares you. I didn't think you would be willing to go to war again, even if it was for me und mein bruder."

"Oh, Luddy," Feliciano whispers. "You're really stupid sometimes."

Freezes. Realizes what he just said. Scrambles, in his head, for something to say, anything, that would make it sound better -

But Ludwig laughs. Outright. Not a little chuckle, a real, honest laugh that sends warmth tingling through Feliciano's veins.

"Ja, I suppose you're right," Ludwig says, still laughing a little. "I can be stupid about things like this."

Feliciano just hugs him tighter. Doesn't think he can speak, not when Ludwig's hand is - unconsciously, he assumes, because Ludwig never does this unless he's drunk or _really_ tired - rubbing up and down his spine, almost soothingly.

"I've never had friends before." Ludwig's voice is softer, now, and closer to Feliciano's ear. "You were mein first, Feliciano, and I don't think I'll ever forget that."

Feliciano thinks back to his own childhood - Holy Rome leaving, growing up alone in Roderich's house, being passed over like he was useless - and decides that, yes, Ludwig was also his first real friend.

"You're mine, too," he has to say, Ludwig has to _know_. "When I was growing up, everyone just wanted to control me and keep me for their own. It was really, really lonely, and sometimes it was really scary. And when Lovi and I were reunited, it didn't get any better. We didn't really get along at first, and for the longest time I was alone." His voice has gone quiet by the end - doesn't think he could say any more, even if he wanted to. Doesn't like remembering the bad times.

"Feliciano." There's a second arm around his waist, pulling him close, crushing him against Ludwig's chest. "Sometimes I forget that you're so much older than I am. You saw so much more than I did. That had to be hard for you."

Swallows. "Everyone was always fighting and trying to take each other's lands and only Grandpa Rome looked out for me, like I was his son, and sometimes I miss him so much."

Ludwig's hand hasn't stopped moving, still rubbing up and down his spine - and Feliciano tries to focus on it, to force his thoughts away from the bad memories. Melts a little, against Ludwig's chest - he can't help it, Ludwig's good at being relaxing without even trying. Doesn't think Ludwig knows just how relaxing he is, sometimes. Feliciano's never felt as peaceful as he does when he's next to Ludwig, even if they're going off to war or something just as scary.

"He's still with you, Feliciano. Watching over you."

"Si, I know. I miss him, though. I wonder what he'd say about the war."

"I think he would like that you're fighting to protect your family."

Feliciano nearly falls off Ludwig's lap. "Family?"

Ludwig laughs again. "Ja, Feliciano. It's been a hundred years, I think it's time we consider ourselves family. Gilbert already looks out for you like he's your older brother. And even Lovino seems to have warmed up to Gilbert."

Feliciano brightens at Ludwig's words. "Ve! We're a family! You and me and fratello and Gilbert and Roderich and Eliza and Kiku! Oh! Have you heard from Kiku lately?"

"Nein, but I have been meaning to call him. I'd like to speak to him about the war."

"Maybe he can help!"

Ludwig's expression goes from happy to stern faster than Feliciano can blink.

"Nein, Feliciano. I don't want him to get involved in this mess. Kiku had enough time after the last war ended - he doesn't need a reminder of that. It's better that he doesn't get involved. I would like to see how he's doing, though. I'm afraid I've been neglecting that friendship."

Feliciano smiles again. "Maybe we can take a weekend trip out to see him! Oh, wouldn't that be so much fun? It's been so long since we've seen Kiku, and even longer since he's seen Gilbert!"

"Ja, Feliciano, that sounds like a good idea." Ludwig's smiling again. "Would you like to call him now?"

"Oh! But the pasta!"

Another laugh. "After pasta, then."

 

Alfred's up and halfway out of bed before he realizes what the noise is. Falls back with a muffled sigh and snatches Kiku's phone off the table and half throws it at the groggy Japanese man. His ringtone is _loud_ \- there's angry German yelling, and some kickass Japanese music, and Alfred can't understand a word of it.

God, he's not awake enough for this.

"Ohayo, komaridesu ka?" A pause. "Oh! Hello, Ludwig."

Yeah, he's really not awake enough for this.

"I'm fine. How are you? How is Gilbert doing?"

He rolls over and turns Kiku's chest into a pillow.

"I'm glad to hear that he's doing well. Of course, I would love to have you visit. Hai, this weekend is fine. I'll see you then. Yes, nice talking to you, as well. Tell Feliciano I say hello."

He ends the call and drops his phone. It lands on the floor - and suddenly he's right there, curling against Alfred's chest and yawning.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Alfred whispers. "You okay?"

Kiku nods. "Just tired."

"Did you not sleep well?"

There's a pause - and then Kiku sighs.

"It's not . . . that I didn't sleep well." he says, almost hesitant. "I sleep much better when I'm here, actually."

His cheeks are scarlet, and it's the cutest thing Alfred's ever seen.

"But?" Alfred prompts, rubbing a thumb across Kiku's pink cheeks.

"Things back at home. I'm a little . . . on edge."

"Is there anything I can help with?"

"No. Arigato, though. There are things I have to deal with on my own."

Alfred smiles and presses a kiss to Kiku's forehead. "I understand. I'm here if you need any help, 'kay? I'll be your hero!"

Kiku smiles at that, and laces his fingers with Alfred's. "That sounds nice."

Alfred grins and runs his free hand through Kiku's hair. "I'll always be your hero, Kiku. No matter what."

Kiku's cheeks turn bright red, and Alfred has to laugh. Doesn't think Kiku can be any more adorable. Pulls him closer and wraps his arms around Kiku's waist and just relaxes, enjoying the feeling of being pressed together like this. Kiku leans his head against Alfred's shoulder

Then there's a feather-light kiss pressed against his neck. Alfred sighs - and then gasps, when another kiss is pressed just behind his ear. Heat spikes in his veins, and he bites his lip.

"Kiku," he says, a little breathless, "don't tease."

"Kiss me," is all Kiku says.

Alfred doesn't think twice. Presses his lips to Kiku's - and doesn't think he'll ever get used to Kiku's lips sliding against his, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. Warmth pools in his stomach, building and building until he starts to shift in discomfort. Keeps kissing Kiku - hooks one hand behind his head to keep him close and slides one hand along his waist, fingertips just barely sliding past the hem of his pants.

And then Kiku pulls back. His cheeks are redder than ever, and he's biting his lip in a way that shouldn't be legal.

"I don't want to rush," Kiku says quietly.

Alfred groans internally - but pulls away. He's not going to push Kiku. Doesn't think he could ever live with himself if he broke Kiku's trust like that.

"Gomennasai, Alfred."

"Kiku, you have nothing to apologize for." Presses a quick kiss to Kiku's forehead. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. I'm not going to push you into anything you're not comfortable with."

"Arigato, Alfred."

Kisses him again, soft and sweet and practically melts against Kiku's side. Pulls back with a dazed, goofy smile - and sneezes.

His head gets thrown back and it smashes against the headboard. Swears - and then rubs a hand across the forming bruise and ducks his head against Kiku's arm and tries to ignore the way Kiku's barely holding back a laugh.

"Stop laughing at me," he whines. "It wasn't funny!"

"Hai, it was." Kiku's still trying to not laugh, and his voice comes out half strangled because of it. Presses a hand over his mouth - but Alfred can still hear him snickering. Would be a lot angrier if it were so damn cute. Yanks Kiku's hand away and crushes their lips together in an intoxicating swirl of lips and teeth and tongue.

When he pulls back, they're both panting and half hard. Puts a little distance between himself and Kiku - waits for his cue to either stop or keep going. Kiku's fingers tangle in his, again, and squeeze once.

"Alfred," Kiku whispers. "Maybe . . ."

"No," Alfred interrupts. "I want you to be _sure_ that it's what you want to do. Okay?"

Kiku hesitates - and then nods once, and puts his head back down on Alfred's chest. Curls closer, their legs tangled together, and sighs, happily.

"Go back to sleep," Alfred whispers. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"I'm not that tired anymore," Kiku mumbles.

Can't help it - he laughs. Kiku pretends to be offended, but joins in and laughs in his quiet, reserved way that Alfred thinks is so damn adorable.

"Let's go have breakfast, then."

"Hai, I would like that."


	12. I'm Not Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for... well, a lot of it is just breaking down and panicking and there's some blood involved, but not violence... it's hard to explain without giving away the scenes. D:

Ludwig knows his troops are strong. Watches from a helicopter as they enter Wroclaw for the first time. Banners are hung from the buildings, and there's a parade of troops in the streets.

They're greeted like heroes.

Ludwig doesn't know what it's like to be a hero - but if it's anything like how he feels now, he's not sure he can handle it. The Brits are coming closer, steadily closer - and it's enough to make his stomach sick from worry. Gnaws on his lip and peers through his binoculars and stares at the British flag waving above the command tent.

God, he hopes Arthur isn't nearby.

Wonders what the battle will be like. No trenches - they've learned well enough to stay away from those death traps. A march on the city? Revolt from inside? There are a hundred ways this could go and a hundred ways Ludwig could lose, and it's all making him a bit queasy. Clutches his stomach and wonders idly if he's going to throw up. Can't remember the last time he actually threw up. Battle of Berlin, maybe, or even before that. War has always turned his stomach, and he's always been good at blocking it out of his head.

When he finally gets back to Nuremburg, he's exhausted. It's been a long day - and not one he wants to remember. Wishes he could skip to the weekend, because lounging at Kiku's house seems much better than sitting in his office doing paperwork for the rest of the night. Ignores the kitchen - he can hear Lovino and Feliciano arguing over what to make for dinner - and shuts himself in his office. Manages to stare at his paperwork for about an hour. Isn't sure how much of it actually gets done.

Feliciano comes in right when he's ready to give up. He's blinking back sleep - it's harder and harder to keep his eyes open - and then there are arms sliding around his shoulder and pulling his head back against a warm chest. Exhales, slowly, and closes his eyes, leaning into the Italian.

"Have you eaten?" Feliciano asks softly.

Ludwig wonders how Feliciano always knows the right questions to ask. Doesn't want to talk about his work, doesn't think he could handle telling Feliciano without some kind of breakdown - but food, that he can talk about.

"Nein, I haven't." Swallows back a yawn and keeps his eyes closed and turns his chair around. Feliciano doesn't hesitate to settle on his lap. Pulls his head down against his chest and just stays there until some of the tension leaks out of Ludwig's body.

"I made wurst. Want me to bring some up here?"

"Ja, that sounds nice."

Feliciano doesn't move, though. Stays where he is and runs his fingers through Ludwig's hair and hums quietly. Ludwig's all but melted into his side, eyes closed and content. Doesn't think he could move even if he wanted to. His bones feel like they've all been weighed down and tied to the chair.

Isn't sure how long they stay like that - and Ludwig's finally, finally, feeling better, when Feliciano pulls back just enough to look at his face.

"You're not getting enough sleep," he whispers. "Come on, let me get you in bed. You'll be more comfortable."

"Ja," Ludwig mumbles. Feliciano gets up and - and he tries to stand up, but the room spins, and he isn't quite sure how he lands on his ass, but it _hurts_.

"Luddy!"

Then Feliciano's right there, rubbing a hand across Ludwig's back, and talking fast.

"Are you alright? Are you dizzy, do you feel okay, do you think you can stand?"

"Ja." It comes out as a croak. Swallows and clears his throat. "I . . . got dizzy. I'm okay."

"No, you're not!" He hooks an arm under Ludwig's elbow. "Come on, I've got to get you in bed. Then I'll bring you up some food, okay?"

Nods - and manages to get to his feet. Doesn't think he can walk on his own, so he leans on Feliciano as much as he thinks he can.

Lovino passes them - and Feliciano _squeaks_ , and leans Ludwig against the wall outside his bedroom, and runs back down the hall to catch Lovino. Leans against the wall, limbs shaking, and thinking that he's going to fall again if Feliciano doesn't hurry up. Can't hear what they're saying - but Lovino looks annoyed, or, at least more annoyed than usual. Feliciano's pleading - and then Lovino scowls, deeper than normal, and stomps off. Feliciano looks mollified, at least, and hurries back down the hall. Raises his arms - and hooks one around Feliciano's shoulders, keeping him on his feet. Leans heavier than before, and somehow still makes it into the bedroom.

Collapses with a loud groan. Shoves his face into the pillow and struggles to keep his eyes open.

"Come on, Luddy," he hears. "You have to sit up."

Tries to wave Feliciano away. Feels hands wrap around his wrist and tug.

Doesn't resist. Let's himself be pulled up - and then there's a plate being shoved into his hands by a scowling Lovino. Takes it and stares at it, until Feliciano nudges him. Eats it in a daze - doesn't really remember most of it. Eyes keep opening and closing, mouth works mechanically, until Feliciano takes the plate from his hand.

"There." Feliciano's unusually gentle - fingers curl in Ludwig's already messy hair and tuck a few wayward strands behind his ear. "That's much better. Now you can sleep, okay? Do you want me to bring you anything?"

Slumps back against the pillows and grunts. Eyes are already closed - it's too much effort to keep them open, and he's so tired, _so tired_. Feels blankets settle around his shoulders. Manages - just barely - to catch Feliciano's wrist. Wants him next to him - the man's like a space heater, and Ludwig could use some heat. Could use his best friend beside him to chase away the nightmares.

"Luddy. I'll be right back, okay?"

Loosens his grip. His arm falls back to the bed. It's tucked underneath the covers, gently, and something warm and happy blossoms in Ludwig's chest. Can't stop the little smile that tilts up his lips. Can almost feel the affection radiating off Feliciano.

It feels like seconds later when the bed dips beside him. Feliciano curls into him and pulls him close and wraps his arms around him like a blanket. Exhaustion washes through him - and if he whispers Feliciano's name when he falls asleep, well, no one has to know.

 

Arthur isn't prepared for the battle.

He thought he was - thought he could handle it, handle the pain and bloodshed and terror and _pain_. He'd forgotten what war felt like, what terror it brought him.

The first battle came at night, of course.

It was strategic - use a small band of soldiers to rouse them, wake them up, retreat, and repeat. Keep them on their toes, wear them down until they're exhausted, and _then_ strike.

Never expected the Germans to be this powerful.

He's on his hands and knees over a large bowl - it was the nearest thing he could find - emptying his stomach over and over. Just when he thinks there isn't anything left to throw up, he proves himself wrong. It's the middle of the night and he's throwing up, hardly able to keep himself upright.

Slumps against the floor when it's over. Presses his face against the cold tile and just focuses on breathing, on keeping his heart rate down. Tries to take a deep breath - but his chest is tight, too tight, and he chokes on air. Coughs into his hand - and quickly hides it, when he sees the blood.

Can't keep going on like this.

Crawls to the table in the corner and uses it to push himself up. Can't breathe - but manages to get to his feet, shaking like someone's flipped a switch and turned his vibration on. He's clinging to the wall and gasping for air and close to blacking out when sturdy arms wrap around his waist and tug him back against a warm chest.

Doesn't stop to think - leans into it, not caring who it is, and shoves his face against their neck. There are tears burning his eyes - there's no point in stopping them, not now when everything, _everything_ , hurts. Sobs wrack his body. Heart hurts. Heart _hurts_ , more than anything else.

There's quiet murmuring in French - and, _of course_ , he should have _known_ it'd be Francis that finds him. Can't be bothered to care, though. Just pushes closer and lets himself be held, lets Francis' arms keep him held together. Starts to relax, when he realizes that Francis is singing to him. Softly, gently - almost inaudible, but it's there, and it's - _relaxing_ , to say the least. Can't understand the French words, but they soothe his aching heart. Sags - until Francis' arms are the only thing keeping him up, and clings to the Frenchman's shirt as the tears dry on his face. Pulls back just enough to stare at him - and, wow, it would be so easy to kiss him right now.

"Bed?" Francis whispers.

Blinks - and, yeah, bed sounds pretty good. Croaks out an answer, doesn't even know if it's coherent - but Francis seems to understand. Keeps an arm locked around his waist and leads him up the stairs and tucks him into bed, all gentle and sweet and warm. Arthur feels like his heart's going to burst out of his chest - and then Francis slides in beside him and pulls him close, and Arthur loses all his air. Sucks in a breath and shoves his face against Francis' neck and just _breathes_ , breathes and lets Francis' gentle singing lull him to sleep.

 

He doesn't realize he's screaming until his throat starts to hurt.

Cuts off - gags, and clutches his stomach, and tries to hide against Toris' shoulder. There are awful-sounding sobs coming from him, and he doesn't know how to stop them, how to stop anything. Feels helpless, and it's the worst feeling in the world.

"Feliks, hey, shh. You're going to be okay."

Whimpers - God, he's pathetic - and shoves his face against Toris' chest and just tries to breathe through the awful sobbing noises he's making. There are tears running down his cheeks, and he's probably ruining Toris' shirt, but he can't _stop_ , can't seem to push the pain away like he did last time. Feels fingers brush through his hair and tries to focus on that, because, wow, that feels good. Swallows back another sob, manages to stay quiet.

"What's happening?" Toris whispers.

"Battle. Losing."

It's all he can choke out - the words taste bad in his mouth, and he feels like he's going to choke on them. Gags, again, and rolls away in case he throws up. Stares at the garbage can on the other side of the room and tries to will it closer.

Toris slides closer and rubs a hand across his back. Rubs one hand across his back and brushes the other through his hair and whispers in Lithuanian. Feels good, feels safe - but it's not enough to block out the hell in Feliks' mind.

"Just breathe, Feliks. Try to block it out."

"Can't." His breath is coming in short pants now - can't seem to get enough air. The room is starting to spin, and he's clutching the sheets like a lifeline. Tilts, nearly falls - but Toris yanks him back and hugs him close and presses little kisses all over his face.

It's oddly comforting, tucked against his chest like this. Takes a deep breath - and if he clings a little tighter to Toris, well, no one has to know.

 

Ludwig's never been more grateful for the weekend.

Arrives in Tokyo with Feliciano and Roderich and Gilbert, with the war far behind them. Has never been more grateful for the change of scenery, for Kiku's never-ending hospitality, and for sleeping pills that keep his brother calm during plane rides.

Gilbert never quite managed to learn to fly without throwing a fit.

Takes his usual room near the front of the house and tries to pretend he doesn't notice the way Kiku watches him and Feliciano with curious eyes. He'd be a fool to not realize what other people think, what they assume about them - and he doesn't really give a damn. They can think what they like. Gay isn't an insult, has _never_ been an insult - Gilbert, of course - and his and Feliciano's relationship is _none of their business_.

"I'm sure you are tired from your flight." Kiku's voice is still soft, still polite and respectful, despite everything they've gone through. "There's time for you all to sleep before dinner."

"Thank Gott." Gilbert's still more asleep than awake, leaning on Roderich like he never wants to move again. "C'mon, Roddy."

Ludwig stifles a laugh as the protesting Austrian is led away. Wonders when those two are going to stop being idiots about each other and _get together_. Knows Gilbert's been in love with him for - a century and a half, at least, and if that isn't dedication, then Ludwig doesn't know what is. He's come to the conclusion, with Eliza's help, that someday the two of them need to be locked into a closet until they vent out their sexual frustrations, and - even if Ludwig's woken every night by the sound of their . . . activities, well, it's a small price to pay to get them to stop dancing around each other.

Feliciano decides to yank him into their room at that moment - nearly falls over, and stumbles after him hastily, ignoring the amused glance Kiku sends his way.

Nearly stumbles against the doorway - Feliciano's grip is surprisingly strong and insistent. Manages to pull back and stop when they're just inside the door, and stares at the little Italian in confusion.

"Feliciano? Is something wrong?"

Feliciano rubs at his eyes and yawns. "No! I'm just tired and kind of really want to go to bed."

"Ja, I understand. It was a long flight." Walks over to the bed and sits on the edge and watches Feliciano stumble his way into bed. Tucks him under the blankets and stifles a smile at the happy little noise that Feliciano makes.

"I'll be in soon, I just want to take a shower," Ludwig whispers.

Feliciano's already fast asleep, though.

 

Gilbert's not a fool - he knows things will be different while they're at Kiku's house. Had been preparing for that the entire flight, despite being knocked out for most of it. Roderich's prim and proper, and he won't want to risk getting caught in the same bed as Gilbert.

Sure enough, when he finally manages to collapse on the bed, Roderich starts heading for the door. Gilbert bites his lip - wants to call after him, wants him to _stay_ \- but stays silent.

Roderich pauses, though, with his hand on the doorknob. Looks as unsure as Gilbert feels.

"Are you going to be okay by yourself?" he asks.

Forces himself to nod. Clamps down on the longing that threatens to rip apart his heart. Closes his eyes and pretends to fall asleep.

Roderich stays for the longest moment - and then there's the sound of the doorknob turning, of the door opening and closing, and then he's going.

Opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling and tries to clamp down on the hurt. He's almost asleep when he realizes - _it's the same room_.

_Stares at the ceiling. Hears the fighting, even now that he's thousands of miles from Germany._

_He can't get away from it._

_It's hopeless, really. And Kiku's battle isn't going much better. He'd come out to Tokyo to get some peace of mind, to get away from the despair - but it's everywhere. Can't escape it. Kiku's eyes are almost constantly black, these days, and Gilbert is scared, scared of what they'll all become if this war goes on any longer. He's checked the mirror almost constantly, always afraid his scarlet irises will be replaced by the flat black of his dark self. Doesn't think he could handle seeing that._

_There's no warning, no hint of what's coming._

_He's grasping at the sheets and choking on air before he realizes what's happening. Feels like someone's taken a sword to his heart. Feels empty, shaken, vulnerable - like the world is crashing down around him and all he can do is sit there and watch it._

He's gasping for breath and halfway to the door when he comes to his senses. Stops with his hand on the doorknob. Cold metal burns his skin - jerks back and presses his hand against his stomach, nearly shaking with the effort of not opening the door. Doesn't know if Roderich would let him in now, now that they're at Kiku's and away from the privacy of Ludwig's home.

Has to try. Throws open the door and slips as quietly as he can into Roderich's room, right across from his. Roderich's awake - and staring at him with this little frown that only fractures Gilbert's heart more. Starts to turn around - but there's nowhere he can go, can't go back to that room and can't find Ludwig. Ludwig doesn't need to suffer the same pain, the same memories. Not when he's probably sleeping peacefully with Feliciano tucked against his side.

Roderich's hand on his shoulder startles him out of his panicked contemplation. Freezes - breath catches in his throat, hands shake, can't look away from the floor.

"Gil, what's wrong?"

Can't stand the sympathy in Roderich's voice. Wants to be strong again, wants to go back to the place in his head where nothing and no one can hurt him. Doesn't think it's possible.

He just wants his heart to stop hurting.

So he sags against Roderich's chest and lets the tears fall and clings to the Austrian with everything he has and tries to ignore the way his heart is slamming faster in his chest. Roderich's - surprised, to say the least, with the way he freezes up at first. But he relaxes after a moment and puts his arms around Gilbert's waist, _where they belong_ , and tugs him over to the bed. Gets him to sit, and Gilbert just curls up on his lap as close as he can be to the Austrian, and tries to block out the horrible sick feeling in his gut.

To his credit, Roderich doesn't try to make him talk. Doesn't try to tell him that it's okay. Just sits there and holds him while Gilbert cries and cries, and it shouldn't make him feel better, but it does. Feels like being taken care of, like being protected.

When he's finally calm - or, at least, _calmer_ than he'd been - Roderich pulls back and just looks at him for the longest moment. There's something like understanding in his eyes, and it's enough to make Gilbert's eyes burn with tears again.

"You're not alone," Roderich murmurs.

Blinks against the fresh tears that start to fall - and clenches his fists in Roderich's shirt and tries desperately not to make any noise. Can't stop it, though - whimpers and sobs and cries until his voice is shot and it feels like there are no tears left in him. Goes limp against Roderich's chest. Feels like he's never going to move again, like all the strength has gone out of his limbs. Roderich rubs a hand up and down his back and holds him closer and gives him the time he needs to breath. Lays back and pulls Gilbert down in his arms and tucks them under the blanket and just keeps holding him like there's nothing he'd rather be doing. Feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest with how hard it's hammering. Tilts his head and stares up at the Austrian and just _looks_ , just takes in the little details - the long, dark lashes; the beauty mark above his lip; the one wayward strand of hair that insists on sticking up - and it feels like falling in love all over again.

"You're not alone," Roderich whispers again, and brushes his fingers through Gilbert's hair.

For the first time, Gilbert is maybe starting to believe it.

 

Ludwig's confused when he comes down for breakfast in the morning. Gilbert and Roderich are conspicuously absent - and for a fleeting moment he hopes that the two came to their senses during the night and finally got together. Then he sees Kiku's face.

"Where is mein bruder?" he demands. "Is everything okay?"

"Gilbert will be fine," Kiku says softly. "There was an incident last night that required him to return to Germany with Roderich's assistance."

"What incident?"

Kiku hesitates. "It seems he had a . . . flashback, of sorts, in his room, and was nearly inconsolable for hours. Roderich thought it would be best to return at once, rather than keep him in close proximity to whatever set him off. They would have woken you, but Gilbert calmed down enough to say that he didn't want to worry you and ruin your evening."

Ludwig slumps against the wall and runs a hand through his hair, not caring that it gets messy again. _Gott_ , how could his brother do this to him? Didn't he know how much Ludwig worries?

Feliciano touches his arm. "Luddy, don't worry. If he's with Roderich, he's going to be okay."

"Ja, I know, but -" _But why couldn't he come to me for help?_ "but I'm still concerned."

"He's your brother; of course you are. How about you call him later, after breakfast?"

"I shouldn't. He probably won't even be off the plane by then. And if Roderich lets him take sleeping pills, he won't be waking up any time soon."

"You're right." Feliciano squeezes his arm and gives him a tentative hug. "Let's enjoy ourselves while we can, though. It isn't often we get to visit Kiku."

"You're right." Swallows - and stands up straight. Attempts to fix his hair into something halfway decent, and smiles as much as he can at Kiku. "What did you have in mind for this weekend?"

 

Gilbert's still groggy as they're pulling into the driveway, but Roderich doesn't mind. Parks and helps him out of the car and into the house. Makes it as far as the couch before he has to take a break. Gilbert just slumps over and curls up right then and there, but his breathing isn't quite even and his eyes aren't closed all the way. Roderich stares for a moment - and then puts a hand on his knee and wishes he could do more to take away Gilbert's pain.

"Come on, Gil," he whispers. "Let's get you in a real bed. Your back is going to hurt if you stay here."

"Don't care."

"I know you don't, but I do. I can't carry you up the stairs, you know. You have to at least cooperate with me on this."

Gilbert sighs - but stands up and clutches Roderich's arm and leans on him more than is strictly necessary. They make it to Roderich's room and Gilbert goes down like a sack of rocks. Doesn't move as Roderich yanks his shoes off and tucks the blankets around his shoulders. Doesn't move until Roderich crawls in beside him - and then shifts as close as he can, practically on top of Roderich, and only then can Roderich tell how badly Gilbert is shaking. Gets an arm around the albino's waist and just hugs him, hugs him as tightly as he can without hurting him. Slowly, _slowly_ , Gilbert starts to relax.

"Don't leave."

His voice is shaky and hoarse and vulnerable, and it tears at Roderich's heart. Wants to keep this man safe, protect him from everything that's ever hurt him, but he can't.

"I won't. You're not alone."

Knows that Gilbert feels alone - that Gilbert's always felt alone. That the albino has been hated and shamed and blamed and discriminated against as long as he's been alive, and that he's never had it easy. Has always had to fight for everything he has.

"Gut."

His voice is softer, now, closer to sleep. Nestles into Roderich's arms and leans his head back against his shoulder and just _breathes_.

And Roderich thinks, for the first time, that miracles really do come true.

 

He wakes up to the smell of blood. Not much - but it's enough to rouse him from his sleep and send his heartbeat into a frenzy. Peers around in the dim early morning light - and nearly faints when he sees Arthur, slumped over a garbage can and trying to hold himself up with shaky limbs as he throws up blood.

"Arthur," he whispers hoarsely.

Arthur's head snaps up - and sends him into a coughing fit. There's blood on his hands when he pulls them away, and he grimaces and bites his lip.

Francis battles with the blankets until he manages to slip out of bed. Stumbles across the room and falls to his knees at Arthur's side, arms going around the Brit's waist almost instantly. Tugs him against his chest - and even though Arthur's the one that's hurting, Francis can't help but feel safe like this, with Arthur in his arm.

"Francis," Arthur tries to say, but it comes out as more of a whimper. "Hurts."

"I know, Arthur, I know. You're strong, though. You can do it."

"Can't." Arthur's shaking, now, and clinging to Francis weakly. "Too . . . too tired."

"Sleep, then," Francis murmurs. Brushes his fingers through Arthur's hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. Doesn't care if Arthur guesses his feelings - needs to do _something_ to make the Brit feel better.

"Hurts too much."

"It's alright, I'll make you some tea. Okay?"

Knows Arthur understands when he nods. Clings to Francis and leans on him and staggers back to bed. Stares at the blood on the back of his hand - and flinches when Francis touches his wrist.

"Don't worry about it, I'll clean it up. Just close your eyes and try to relax."

Arthur nods.

Francis disappears into the kitchen. Makes the tea as fast as he can, and grabs the sleeping pills. Also grabs a wet cloth. Brings the tea to Arthur and makes sure he swallows a pill and sits with him, holding his hand and stroking his hair and speaking to him softly until his breathing evens out and his head lolls to the side. Then Francis swallows and starts cleaning up the blood on Arthur's hands.

He'd never hated blood until the Great War. Never hated the sight of red until he'd seen it in the trenches, sunk so deep in the ground that it was impossible to walk without stepping it in. Never hated it until he tried running across no-man's land with his troops surrounding him - when, barely a second later, they were all dead and their blood soaked the ground.

There are a lot of poetic things he could say about the blood on the ground - but there's nothing poetic about the canons ringing in his ears while he screams his throat raw. Nothing poetic about losing most of the men of his nation, good men with wives and children and sisters and mothers. Good men that didn't deserve to die, to rot like garbage in a mine field because he _couldn't save them in time_.

No, Francis never hated blood until the First World War.

Now it sends chills down his spine and makes his hands shake. Makes his heart pound faster, fills his ears with the roar of certain death.

Has to stop three times to get his breathing back under control before he finally manages to clean up all of the blood.

Dumps the garbage can outside - it can disappear, for all he cares, he never wants to see it again. Then crawls back upstairs and into bed and curls as tight as he can around Arthur, because he can't stop shaking and he never wants to see a drop of blood again. Shakes and cries and holds Arthur until the sun comes above the horizon and Arthur starts to stir. Only then does he loosen his hold and pull back - not much, but enough to hide his face against Arthur's neck.

Arthur's voice is rough when he finally speaks.

"I'm sorry." Swallows. "I was . . . so out of it, by the time you woke up. I shouldn't have made you clean all of that up on your own, _I'm sorry_."

"I-It's fine." Knows it doesn't fool Arthur. Presses his shaking hands into his stomach and curls up into a tighter ball against Arthur's side.

"We're both pretty messed up, eh?" Arthur laughs, weakly, and slips an arm around Francis' waist. "You're going to be okay, though. You're not in the trenches, Francis."

Whimpers. Can see it like he's there - he _is_ there, in his head, is in the trenches, ducking and dodging and sobbing, sobbing like his chest is being ripped apart from the inside out. Can't breathe, can't do anything but lay there and shake and fist his hands in Arthur's shirt and hold on for dear life.

"Francis. _Francis_. Open your eyes, come on, you can do it. Open your eyes and look at me."

Peeks his eyes open. Arthur's emerald irises stare into his.

"You're not there. Do you understand? You're not there, it's not happening. You're here in bed with me, and you're not alone. You're not alone."

Slowly, his heartbeat calms down to a normal pulse. Starts breathing easier. Doesn't untangle himself from Arthur.

"That's it," Arthur murmurs. "You did good, Francis. I'm right here. How are you feeling?"

"Shaky," he croaks.

"Yeah." Arthur's smile is sympathetic. "I bet. You're okay, though."

Swallows. "I - thank you."

"Hey, don't mention it. I know how much these flashbacks scare you. I'm not heartless enough to let you go through it alone."

Laughs - a little shaky, but it's still a laugh. Nestles against Arthur and closes his eyes.

"Sleep," he mumbles.

"Sure. I'll be right here. Don't worry about a thing, Francis."

Is already half asleep when he feels Arthur's hands brush through his hair. Sighs against Arthur's neck and settles closer, humming in contentment.

"I'll protect you, Francis."


	13. Windows and Legs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night? Must be a new record! :O

As much as he's happy to visit Kiku, Ludwig's glad when the weekend is over. Lands in Nuremburg with a heavy heart and weighted mind. Let's Feliciano drive - and boy, that's a mistake he'll never make again. Is terrified by the time they reach his home. Is surprised there aren't nail marks in the dashboard and door where he held on for dear life. Feliciano - doesn't even seem fazed, and that's something Ludwig will never understand. The little Italian can face down a fellow nation if it's for Ludwig or Lovino, and can even face his own driving - but an army? Never.

Doesn't mind, though - after all, Ludwig's never minded having someone to protect. It's nice, really, to have someone that relies on him and considers him a protector.

It's a lot of pressure, though.

Follows the Italian into the house, and doesn't even complain when Feliciano drops his bags in the doorway and runs up the stairs with a strangle cry of, "FRATELLO!" Hears a door slam, and some yelling in Italian, and smiles to himself. It's good to be home. Follows him up the stairs, slower, and pauses. Gilbert's door is open, but Roderich's is closed. Raises his hand to knock - and then decides to just go in.

They're both under the covers, sounds asleep. Gilbert's clinging to Roderich like he never wants to let go, and Ludwig's pretty sure he doesn't. Closes the door as quietly as he can and heads for his own room and starts putting things away.

Feliciano bounces in about ten minutes later, dragging an irritated Lovino behind him.

"Luddy!" Feliciano's nearly vibrating with how hard he's bouncing. "Fratello and I are going to the store! Do you want to come with us and help us pick out things to cook for dinner? Family night is tonight and I want to make it a really nice once because Gilbert isn't feeling very well."

"That sounds like a great idea, Feliciano," Ludwig says, and smiles when Feliciano's eyes light up. "Ja, I'll come, but only if I get to drive."

Lovino opens his mouth - to complain, no doubt, but Ludwig elbows him in the stomach and he shuts up.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Luddy, my driving isn't that bad, but of course you can drive if you'd rather, I really don't mind, and oh! Fratello, did you make a list while we were gone of all the things we need like I asked you to?"

"Of course I did, bastardo," Lovino mutters. "I'm not an idiot, you know."

Feliciano giggles. "Of course you're not! I was just checking. Really, Lovi, you can be very forgetful sometimes, and I just wanted to make sure you had the list before we left! Come on, Luddy, let's go!"

He's dragged out of his chair by Feliciano. Lovino's still glaring at him and Ludwig's tempted to tell him to get the hell out of his house because he does _not_ need to deal with anything else right now, but then he pictures Feliciano's sad expression if he did that and quickly shuts his mouth. Manages to regain his balance when Feliciano lets go of his wrist at the top of the stairs. Follows as quickly as he can - there's no one faster than Feliciano when he's on a mission - and gets in the car.

The drive to the store is tense. Feliciano chatters away, oblivious as ever, but Ludwig is acutely aware of Lovino's displeasure, and tries his best not to do anything to make it worse. Doesn't want to make this day anything less than fun for Feliciano.

Lovino takes the first opportunity to break away when they get to the store. Grabs his own basket and heads down the fruit aisle, muttering under his breath about stupid potato bastards. Feliciano watches him - looks sad, almost, as he steers Ludwig towards the pasta aisle.

"He's not used to sharing me," Feliciano says. Ludwig's been delegated to holding the basket while Feliciano dumps boxes of pasta into it. "It was always just me and Fratello at home before I met you. And he's not very fond of Germans in general, so you being Germany just kind of makes everything worse."

"Why?"

Feliciano shifts - looks uncomfortable, and takes a step closer to Ludwig. "I . . . I shouldn't tell you."

"Feliciano, I want to understand. I want to make things better."

Feliciano swallows. "It has to do with Hitler."

Goes still. Swallows - can't hear what Feliciano's saying. Takes a step back and takes a deep breath - and then turns and walks back down the aisle as fast as he can without looking strange. Doesn't stop until he reaches the car. Flings himself inside and locks the doors and sits in the back with his head in his hands and waits for his breathing to even out. Pushes back against the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him, drag him under.

Doesn't look up until the doors unlock. Glances up - sees Feliciano fumbling with the keys and Lovino pushing an overflowing grocery cart. Stays where he is - doesn't move while the Italian brothers load the bags into the back of the car. Doesn't move as Feliciano gets in the driver's seat and starts driving. Keeps it at a normal speed - and Ludwig's never been more grateful for the extra time to get his thoughts together.

Unfortunately, it's a little harder to do that once Feliciano pulls into the driveway. He sends Lovino on ahead to take care of the bags - and then turns and takes Ludwig's hand, and looks at him with eyes wide with concern, and it's all Ludwig can do to stop himself from hyperventilating again.

"Luddy, are you okay?"

"Ja, fine." It comes out a little breathless - more than a little, really, and Ludwig hates himself for it. For not being able to control his emotions. For letting things that happened seventy years ago still affect him this much.

"Why don't you come up to bed with me?" Feliciano asks softly. "You must still be jet lagged from switching time zones. I'll make you some tea and help you relax, okay? You don't have to worry about Lovino right now, he's not going to bother you."

Swallows. _How_ did Feliciano get this good at making him feel protected? Manages to nod. Slides out of the car and walks through the front door and takes a seat in the dining room on legs that are slightly less than steady. Feliciano bustles around making tea - not rushing, but not going slow - and talking softly about small little things, like what they bought and how he's excited to make dinner, and how they can postpone it to tomorrow night so that Ludwig can sleep.

Drinks the tea that Feliciano puts in front of him. Has to say what's on his mind now, before they're in _bed_ \- before it seems like something more.

Grabs the Italian's wrist and tugs him, gently, down on Ludwig's lap. Wraps his arms around the slender waist and buries his face in the soft curls and just _breathes_ for a moment. Feels some of the tension leak out - and his throat is still tight, but he has to say this before he loses all of his nerve.

"Danke, Feliciano," he whispers.

"For what?"

"For being mein friend."

Feliciano shifts - enough to look up at Ludwig, fondness clear in his bright eyes. "There's nothing to thank me for, Luddy. You do the same for me every day."

Throat feels tighter, suddenly. Doesn't know what to say. Has never been good at expressing emotions and speaking, but feels like he needs to say _something_.

"I . . . I am glad that I found you, that day. I don't know what I would do without you."

And, wow, that is probably way too honest. Sounds more like a confession, to his ears, but Feliciano - thank God, Feliciano doesn't seem to see it that way. Doesn't know if he could deal with that, on top of everything else. He's - he's not gay, or at least he doesn't think he is. Honestly, feels like he could go both ways sometimes. And sometimes neither appeal to him.

"Aww, Luddy!" Feliciano's happy squeal pushes him back to the present. "That's so sweet of you to say!" Nuzzles his face against Ludwig's and just clings tighter and sighs happily. "Come on, you big sap, let's get you up to bed. You look like you're ready to pass out."

"Ja, I am."

Feliciano grabs his hand and tugs until Ludwig stands and follows him up the stairs. Pushes him down, face down, on the bed, and giggles.

"I have a surprise!" He giggles some more. "Big Brother France taught me how to do this."

Ludwig has a moment of panic - if it involved _France_ , it can't be good - but his protests are cut off when Feliciano sits across his hips. There's a rush of heat, and then Ludwig's biting his lip and doing his best to ignore the heat that's pooling in his hips. Then, suddenly, Feliciano's hands are rubbing across his back in little circles, pressing into muscles that haven't properly relaxed in weeks. Ludwig groans, and his eyes close half way.

Feliciano giggles again. "Francis is really good at giving massages and he taught me how to do it really well! I've been looking for someone to practice on."

"Mm," is all Ludwig can manage to say. He's gone limp, pressed into the blankets and feeling like he's floating. Feels like he never wants to move again.

"Better, Luddy?"

"Ja." It comes out as a sigh. Nestles his face against the pillows and lets Feliciano's fingers do their magic and just _relaxes_. Wants Feliciano beside him, though, wants his warmth tucked next to him. Rolls - Feliciano makes the most adorable _eep_ noise and falls beside him with a giggle. Slides his arms around Ludwig's shoulders and pulls his head against his chest - and Ludwig lays there and listens to Feliciano breathes and just enjoys the fact that they're alive and together.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face.

 

_To Germany and Allies:_

_This war cannot continue as it has. Both sides are suffering, and the loss of life is already far too high. Please reconsider your actions. We can guarantee that if you agree to end the fighting peacefully and allow the Czech Republic and Poland reclaim their lost lands, you will not hold the burden that was forced on you in 1918. This is the one and only time we will offer this, and we strongly urge you to accept._

_From,_

_England and Allies_

 

Ludwig crumples the note in his fist and throws it against the wall with as much force as he can muster. It falls to the ground, pitifully.

"What are you going to send back?" Feliciano asks in a small voice.

"I don't know yet," Ludwig replies. Shakes his head - how could they not understand why he is fighting? How could they ask him to give up the land that's keeping his brother alive?

Knows, suddenly, what to write.

 

_Arthur and Francis,_

_I have no intention of giving this land back, because it is the only thing keeping my brother alive. I will do anything to keep Gilbert alive. I owe him my life, and he has been there for me from my earliest memory and through every hardship. I will fight to keep him alive after your decision to strip him of his nation status. I will go to my grave, if I must, to keep him alive._

_You can end this war. You can let me keep this land and protect my brother. You can withdraw your soldiers and end your bombing, and spare the lives of your troops. That is the only way to end this war, because I will not stop until Prussia is a strong nation again._

_From,_

_Ludwig_

 

Francis' hands shake as he stares at the words on the page. Tears fall - doesn't bother to stop them. Couldn't, even if he tried.

_Why is he fighting a war against his best friend?_

Arthur's hand is on his shoulder. Turns - doesn't want to show the tears, doesn't want to show how much this bothers him - and rubs the back of his hand hastily across his eyes.

"Francis -"

"Non, non, I do not want to talk about this."

"We have to!" Arthur insists. "This is a big deal. I had guessed that this was Ludwig's motive, but I had no idea that his commitment was this strong."

Francis laughs. It sounds hollow. "You guessed. Dieu, what did you think it could be? He named the damn land Prussia, after all." Shakes his head and tries to keep the hysteria out of his voice. "And as far as his commitment, how much farther did you think he'd go? Did you think he'd read your letter and suddenly see the light? That's his _brother_ , Arthur. You lost yours once. Imagine if Alfred was dying."

"Don't say that," Arthur snaps. "You have no idea what that was like."

"Non, I don't, because you _took my colony from me_."

Can actually hear Arthur swallow. Feels bad, for bringing up the past like that - but it's nothing compared to the guilt that's ripping his stomach apart.

 _He's fighting a war to kill his best friend_.

Doesn't think he can live with himself if Gilbert dies because of him - but how can he abandon Arthur? How can he abandon the one man that has always stuck by him, no matter what? Doesn't Arthur deserve the same consideration, the same loyalty? And it's - it's not easy, going through war alone, and Francis - Francis knows that if he leaves, Arthur will never accept him back. Will never love him back. Will, possibly, never be able to recover from the betrayal.

They may have been enemies, once, but they've certainly come a long way.

"Excuse me," Francis mumbles. "I need to . . . to think about this. I'll be in my room."

Arthur doesn't come to him that night.

Considers finding him - he's got to be passed out _somewhere_ \- but stays in bed and stares at the ceiling. Wonders if Arthur is doing the same, if Arthur is having the same difficulty sleeping that Francis is. Never thought it would be so difficult to fall asleep on his own - but he's come to enjoy having someone beside him at night, and having it ripped away so suddenly is harder than he thought it would be.

Doesn't know if he can handle nights without Arthur.

He knows, at that moment, that he could never abandon Arthur. Not in this war, not in any future wars (God forbid), and certainly not tonight, not after everything he'd seen the night before.

He's shaking, he can tell, but he still can't make himself get out of bed. Bites his lip hard, hard enough to taste blood, and nearly breaks right then and there. Hurries out of bed - he's nearly slipping in his haste, but he's so beyond caring at this point. Vaguely remembers which room was _supposed_ to be Arthur's, and checks there first.

Arthur's in bed, but Francis can tell by the sound of his breathing that he's not asleep. Hesitates - and then slips in, shuts the door behind him, and pads soundlessly across the floor. Pulls back the blankets and slides in beside Arthur and lays there, just lays there and breathes, until Arthur's hand finds his under the blankets.

"Don't leave me," Arthur whispers. "You're the only one that hasn't left."

"I'm not going anywhere," Francis promises.

They curl together, bodies hidden underneath the blankets, and hold each other until morning.

 

Ludwig's amazed, really, at how fast Gilbert's strength grows. It takes another week - another week of hellish political battles and rebel fighting and Gilbert's ever-growing cocky attitude - but then Gilbert has a president and an army to call his own. There's life in his eyes and his cheeks again, and he's walking around like he used to - running and dancing and taking the stairs three at a times - Ludwig swears he does it just to be annoying - and it's still the greatest thing he's ever seen.

Then Hell returns.

They spend about three weeks fighting the British in Poland, again. Spend endless nights suffering through raids and air strikes and gun fire and canons, and it's all they can do to keep their sanity. By the end of it, Gilbert's a wreck and Ludwig's barely able to stay awake for more than a few minutes after all the sleepless nights he's had to suffer through. Feliciano's tired, but his cheerfulness hasn't gone away, and Ludwig will never stop being thankful for that. Even Lovino is making an effort to be less of an ass to Ludwig.

They manage to claim more land in Poland - Ludwig's plan works, and he's so relieved that he could cry, if he had any tears left to shed.

Then the rebellions return.

There's no warning. They're having dinner one night, it's Monday, May 27th - the day of their family dinner, when Gilbert goes down at the table. Only stays out for a few minutes, and when he wakes up it's like all of the life has gone out of his eyes. Ludwig knows what it's like to have citizens fighting each other, and wishes there was something he could do for his brother.

Goes up, at the end of dinner, to check on Gilbert. Roderich had taken him up to rest - against Ludwig's better judgment, because _he_ wanted to be the one to be there for his brother this time. Can't deny his connection with Roderich, though, and if he really wants to act in his brother's best interest, well, he needs to let Roderich take care of him and wait until Gilbert comes to him on his own.

Goes up, though, to check on him. Wants to see if he needs anything, if he wants to go and oversee the military action, or anything like that. Doesn't expect to find what he finds.

Roderich's slumped across the bed, breathing even. Out cold. There's a bottle of sleeping pills on the nightstand, overturned, and a half empty glass of water.

The window is open.

"Verdammt!" Ludwig yells. Runs down the stairs and out the door - but Gilbert is nowhere to be seen, and anyways, one of the cars is missing.

Feliciano runs out behind him and grabs Ludwig's wrists.

"Luddy!" he exclaims. "Luddy, breathe, please, and tell me what happened."

"Gilbert," Ludwig gasps. "Gilbert's gone."

 

Gilbert hasn't been in a uniform since his dissolution. It's bittersweet, now - it's a Prussian uniform he's donning, instead of a German one like the last war - but it feels _right_ , feels better than he expected it to feel. Hangs around with the soldiers until the order comes to move out - and, yeah, he's missed this. Has always been a military man. Always felt more at home in a uniform than a suit, and has never been afraid to get his hands dirty. It's easier - there's less thinking involved. Doesn't have to worry about impressing people or outsmarting them or cooperating with them. People are difficult. Fighting is easy.

His general knows who he is, of course, but no one else does. Isn't sure how his general explained it away - but Gilbert's got a green light to fight on the front with his own troops whenever he damn well pleases, and no one's going to take that away from him.

Marches in line as a soldier, as a lowly private. It's the best way, really, to get the war experience. They're the lowest, the ones who always face the most danger, and danger has always been the best method to make Gilbert feel alive.

After the last decade of his life, he could really use some of that.

Spends a day with the troops before they're sent into a battle against the rebels. Ducks and weaves and takes covers behind buildings and whatever else is big enough to block a bullet. These are _his_ streets he's reclaiming, fighting for with his life. It feels right, like this. Doesn't want to be just another figurehead - wants to be one of the troops, one of the people. Wants to feel their suffering and turn it into happiness.

Then the pain comes.

He's down on the ground before he realizes what happened. Clutches his leg - there's blood seeping between his fingers, and he pales at the sight of it.

Gets taken off the battlefield, of course. Probably his general's orders. He can't die, technically, but no one wants to risk it this early.

The good news? He's a nation; he heals quickly, and from things that a regular human couldn't.

The bad news? The bone in his leg is shattered. With his healing rate, it should only take a few days to heal, but they're going to painful, hellish days. Gilbert doesn't care, though. It's a good pain - makes him feel alive.

Gets treated by the doctor - and then Ludwig comes in, and Gilbert nearly calls the nurse back to make him leave. Ludwig looks - looks like he doesn't know whether to be worried or mad. Is bordering on both. Sits down on the edge of Gilbert's bed and just looks at him for the longest moment, until Gilbert starts shifting in discomfort.

"Ludwig -"

"Nein, shut up. I don't want to hear it from you." Ludwig sighs. "What you did was dangerous, stupid, and completely reckless. What if they'd captured you? They would torture you, Gilbert, and they might even kill you, because they _don't know who you are_. And they can't ever find out."

"Ja, ja, I know."

"Then why did you do this?"

"I . . ." Gilbert swallows. "This is mein nation, Ludwig. I want to fight for it. I want to protect mein people, and if that means giving my life, well, then screw living! I'll do anything for these people." Sounds almost desperate - _needs_ Ludwig to understand. "They're the reason I'm alive. I just . . . want to save as many as I can."

Ludwig softens. "I know, Gilbert. I'm not angry. But, next time you want to go running off to war, _let me help_. I will go through Hell and back with you. Anything you have to face, we can face together." Ludwig squeezes his hand, and Gilbert feels his face break into a grin. Fighting with Ludwig - just like old days. Bad days, for sure, but - some of his best memories are teaching Ludwig how to fight, or helping him beat an enemy.

"Sounds good," Gilbert says. "Hey, uh, is Roddy here? I need to talk to him."

Ludwig - looks disappointed, for the briefest second, and Gilbert feels a twinge of guilt. He doesn't _mean_ to neglect his brother, but - it's always been easier to talk to Roderich, and that's probably not going to change any time soon.

"Ja, I'll send him in."

Gilbert's never been good with patience, and being stuck in a bed doesn't help. Roderich takes the _longest_ time to walk across the room - and Gilbert just wants the Austrian beside him, wants to feel his arms around his waist so badly that it hurts.

"Gil? Are you okay?"

"Come here," Gilbert nearly growls.

Roderich obeys. Sits on the edge of the bed - gasps when Gilbert pulls him down, but doesn't resist and just tucks Gilbert closer. Rubs a hand across his back and through his hair, and Gilbert just sighs and relaxes into the touch.

"You're okay, right?" Roderich asks softly. "I was so worried, Gil. Don't scare me like that again."

"Sorry," Gilbert mumbles. "I just . . . I wasn't thinking, I guess. I should have left a note, at least."

"Maybe next time you could refrain from _drugging me_."

Gilbert snickers. "Hell no, that was half the fun. It was way too easy to do, too, you should probably be more careful about taking drinks from strange men."

Roderich snorts. "Strange you may be, but you're no stranger. I trust you, Gilbert."

Goes still. Can't remember the last time someone trusted him. It's been - a hundred years, maybe more. It feels - good, and sort of like there's pressure to do the right thing, to not fuck it up.

"Just relax," Roderich whispers. "I'm not mad."

Hadn't even realized he'd tensed up. Relaxes, again, and nestles against the smooth fabric of Roderich's shirt. Is drowsy, suddenly, and very, very content. It's always better in Roderich's arms - and while he knows he can't keep this up forever, can't act like they're together when they're not, he'd rather tell the pessimistic voice in his head to shut up and let him enjoy the moment.

Roderich's fingers curl in his hair and rub little circles against his head, and it's probably the most relaxing thing Gilbert's ever felt. Limbs feel like feathers, light and loose and not quite attached to his body. Realizes, on some level, that Roderich probably turned his painkiller dose up, but decides that he doesn't care. Yawns, widely, and shifts up a little - so his face is pressed against Roderich's neck, nestled in the space between his shoulder and head. He fits comfortably there, like he was meant to be there.

"Sleep, Gil," Roderich murmurs. "You'll feel better when you wake up."

Sighs happily. Could spend the rest of his life falling asleep like this and never get tired of it. Presses the softest of kisses to Roderich's shoulder and closes his eyes and just lets himself drift off to sleep.


	14. Where Do Your Loyalties Lay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long! Life kind of took over and snatched me away for a while, but I'm back now! This is kind of short, but I promise I'll make up for it with the next chapter.

Francis stands in the crowd and stares up at the balcony. Gilbert's being pushed out in a wheelchair by Ludwig. Looks all kinds of exhausted and scared and - and that's not the Gilbert that Francis remembers. That's not the cocky, arrogant, unemotional bastard that Francis is friends with.

Dying must have changed him.

Isn't sure how he feels about that. Gilbert's always been crass and irritating, and his general lack of emotions had pissed Francis off more times than he cares to remember, but he'd always been a loyal friend, even when they were on opposite sides of a war.

Gilbert's getting to his feet now, leaning on Ludwig until he can cling to the balcony. There's a cast around his leg. Francis shudders. Had _he_ done that? Had his involvement - his troops' involvement - hurt Gilbert that much?

Isn't sure how he feels about that.

"My people," Gilbert calls, "I have an announcement to make." He draws himself up to his full height, uniform pristine against the dreary sky. "There are those who want to take this land away from us, this land that rightfully belongs to us."

Francis can't deny that Gilbert makes a striking figure. He's tall, strong, intimidating, and it's clear that his people love him. They're clamoring around the balcony, all trying to get a better view or press closer to their nation. They may not know who he is - but there's _something_ about him that makes them sense that he's so much more than a regular human. It's infectious.

Can't stay any longer. Turns and pushes his way through the crowd. Only keeps himself on his feet by sheer will alone. Can feel Gilbert's unnerving eyes follow him across the square. Stops on the edge of the crowd - turns and faces him. Looks him in the eye - can only manage to hold his gaze for a second before he drops his eyes, ashamed, and runs from the crowd.

Isn't sure how he makes it back to his house. Collapses just inside the door - falls to his knees and crumples sideways, held up by the wall, and hides his face in shaking hands. There are tears, of course there are tears - he's never been good at controlling his emotions. Never been good at keeping things locked up inside like Gilbert. Could never completely manage to separate himself from his country, or his country from himself.

Hears footsteps. Wipes a hand across his eyes and tries to stand. Stumbles and falls - into Arthur's arms. Fists his hands in Arthur's shirt and presses his face into Arthur's neck and just cries. Arthur's - alarmed, to say the least, with the way he's looking at Francis. Doesn't say anything, though; just tightens his arms around Francis' waist and murmurs nonsense words until Francis' sobs begin to quiet. Keeps holding him even after his sobs are reduced to quiet sniffs - and it shouldn't feel like more, not _now_ , but it does.

Only pulls back when Francis starts to lean heavier against him. The strength is beginning to leak out of his limbs. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep standing like this. Pulls back - puts some space between them, and ignores the concern that flashes in Arthur's eyes. Can't tell him. Can't tell him why his heart is shattering in his chest. Doesn't know what he wants to do - stay with Arthur, save his best friend, he _can't_ have both - and doesn't know how to face Arthur until he figures it out.

So he does the only thing he can think of.

He runs.

Runs, away from the comfort of Arthur's arms. Runs up two flights of stairs and barricades himself in his room. Locks the door and stumbles to the window and just leans his forehead against the cold glass and tries to breathe, tries to muddle through the swirl of emotions in his head.

Isn't sure how long he stands there. There's a gentle knock at the door - doesn't need to open it to know that Arthur's standing on the other side, probably biting his lip and looking distressed.

"Francis?"

Doesn't move.

A sigh. "Francis, please. I . . . I want to help you."

Doesn't move.

"You shouldn't be alone."

Flinches. Alright - yeah, he probably shouldn't be alone. His thoughts are drifting into frightening territory. Pushes away from the window - pauses, hand on the doorknob, and _breathes_.

Opens the door.

Arthur's arms are around him in an instant, hugging him tight and not letting go. Nearly cries out at the relief that washes through him. Clings - probably harder than necessary, but he doesn't care anymore - to Arthur's shirt and presses his face against Arthur's neck and just _breathes_ , just tries to relax. Arthur tugs him over to the bed and lays him down and curls up around him and just holds him and rubs a hand up and down his spine.

What did Francis ever do to deserve this man?

The tears come again. He _really_ needs to learn how to start controlling his emotions. Can't be weak like this anymore.

Opens his mouth.

"My troops," - clears his throat - "are bombing the Prussian capital as we speak."

Arthur's arms tighten almost to the point of pain - and Francis wants them tighter, wants something to ground him against the swirling storm in his head.

"What made you decide to do that?"

"Went to Gilbert's speech." Clears his throat, again. Sounds like he's been yelling. In a way, he has. "I don't . . . I don't want to fight him, Arthur. He's my best friend. But . . . I'd never forgive myself for abandoning you in this war."

"I wouldn't be angry," Arthur murmurs. Brushes a hand through Francis' hair. "I know he's your best friend, and I wouldn't want to come between you. If you want to switch sides, Francis, I wouldn't blame you. I would understand, and I would welcome you back as a friend once this war is over."

Shakes his head. "I can't . . . I can't abandon you. Not now, not when you need me the most."

Feels Arthur flinch. Stumbles, hurries, to take back his words.

"I mean - I just meant, with the war, you can't be alone, I -"

Arthur silences him with a hug.

It's - surprising, to say the least, because Francis can't remember the last time Arthur willingly hugged him. But now the Brit has his arms around his waist, nearly crushing him to his chest, and making these horrible little breathy noises like he's holding back tears.

"Don't worry about me, you stupid Frenchy," Arthur mumbles. "I -  I'm just fine on my own, thank you very much. You worry about yourself."

Swallows. "I can't . . . go through another war without you."

Arthur pulls back. His smile's gone soft and affectionate, and it tugs at Francis' heart. Turns his head away, just a little - just enough to not look him in the eye. Arthur curls in his hair and just leaves it there, fingertips rubbing little circles into his scalp, and it feels far better than it should. Feels like being protected, being loved. He never wants it to end.

"We're going to be okay, Francis," Arthur murmurs. "You'll see. This war will end, and we'll rebuild like always. It won't be easy, but we're going to make it through just fine. I promise."

"I wish I could believe you," Francis whispers hoarsely. Shifts closer and rests his head against Arthur's chest. His eyelids are starting to close against his will - doesn't want to dream, doesn't want to sleep - and it's all he can do to keep himself from nodding off right then and there. Arthur can tell - he's humming, softly. Warmth spreads through his body and he relaxes, a little.

"I'll be right here, Francis. I won't let you be alone. You can sleep."

"Sleep," he whispers. "Oui." Lets his eyes close. He's tired, so tired. Curls into Arthur's warmth and yawns, and lets himself slowly drift asleep.

 

Gilbert's been pacing for almost an hour now. It's driving Roderich insane - but Gilbert won't sit still, _can't_ sit still, and he _doesn't know how to help_.

Helpless has never been a good emotion for him.

It's frustrating, so frustrating, because he just wants to be able to help Gilbert. And now, Gilbert won't even tell him what set him off.

"Gilbert," he says for the fifteenth time, "come and sit down. Please."

"Nein."

"Please, Gil."

"I said nein. Stop trying."

Stands up and walks across the room. Gilbert still doesn't stop. Keeps walking back and forth, ignoring Roderich's pleading glances. Takes a step forward - puts his hands on Gilbert's shoulders and _makes_ him stop. Stands in front of him and just waits. Gilbert's entire body goes still, almost shaking with nervous energy - and then he exhales loudly and slumps against Roderich. Breathes in and out, and then lifts his head.

"Danke."

"What happened?"

"I . . . Francis. He was at my speech."

Goes very, very still. "Did he do anything?"

"Nein, he was just listening. But . . . I haven't seen him in decades, and - and he looks like shit, Roddy."

"We're in the middle of a war, I doubt he would look like his normal self. We're all a little changed."

"Nein, it's -" Gilbert takes a deep breath. "Francis suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. It's - he's never really been able to treat it. It's not like the human version. It's stronger, so much stronger than anyone realizes except for him." Swallows, and leans his forehead against Roderich's shoulder. "He used to get really bad flashbacks, to the point where he couldn't tell where he was anymore. After . . . after the last war, he started to get better. I think that was because he had help. Arthur - he was always good to Francis when Antonio and I couldn't be there." Shudders, a little, and presses closer. "We were all going through hell back then, but the last time I saw Francis . . . he looked happy. It's the first time I'd actually seen him really, _honestly_ happy since - since before I fought him, I think. When H-Holy R-R-R-Rome d-died."

Slides his arms around Gilbert's waist and hugs him close. "Shh, Gil." Rubs a hand up and down his back and waits for Gilbert's silent sobs to finish before he speaks. "I understand what you mean. I dealt with it for a few years, but medication and therapy helped tremendously. It rarely bothers me now."

"It's impossible to go through everything that we've gone through and come out unharmed," Gilbert whispers. "I . . . you don't know half of what's got me fucked up. You'd be running in the other direction if you knew."

"Gilbert. Nothing could make me run from you."

And - _shit_ , why did he say that? Gilbert's head shoots up - and they stare at each other, questions in their eyes that they're both too afraid to ask.

"Gilbert?"

Roderich jumps back. "Ludwig!"

Gilbert scowls at his brother's face poking through the doorway. "Jesus, haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"Sorry, Gilbert, but new reports have just come through. I thought you would want to take a look at them before our next meeting."

Gilbert runs a hand through his hair. "Ja, ja. I'll be there in a moment."

Ludwig leaves. Gilbert turns back to Roderich, expression unreadable.

"Gilbert -" Roderich starts, but the albino cuts him off.

"I really hate meetings." He laughs, but his voice shakes. Runs another hand through his hair and bites his lip and doesn't look at Roderich. "Look, I'll - I'll see you later. At dinner."

"Right." Swallows, and forces himself to look away. "Enjoy your meeting."

He walks out before he decides to be any more honest than he already has been.

 

Night doesn't come soon enough, in Gilbert's opinion. The meetings drag on until he wants to pound his head against the wall - or his boss's. Anything to make the torture end.

Dinner is a tense affair. Feliciano's the only one that talks - though, that's really not that unusual. Ludwig hardly ever speaks when there's more than one person in a room, and Roderich still won't quite look Gilbert in the eye. So Gilbert tries to shove the tension into the furthest corner of his mind and takes another swig of beer.

He's realized, by now, that he should probably slow down. He's on his third, and Ludwig's too lost in his own world to realize what's going on in Gilbert's head. Even Feliciano is having trouble keeping him grounded. The little Italian has been flittering back and forth between Gilbert and Ludwig all evening.

"You should slow down."

It's whispered, almost, and Gilbert doesn't realize that it's directed at him at first. Then he looks up and tilts his head.

"Why?"

Roderich scoffs. "Do you want to deal with another hangover?"

Gilbert shrugs. "I don't care."

"Fine. It's your funeral. But don't come crying to me when your head starts hurting." He turns his nose up, but there's a hint of a smile playing around the corners of his lips. Gilbert swallows - wants to see that smile, wants to make Roderich _laugh_. Wants to press his lips to the soft skin of Roderich's neck and trace his jaw -

Ludwig stands up, then, jarring Gilbert from his thoughts.

"Today has been a long day," he says. "I'm going to bed. Good night, everyone."

Feliciano's on his feet in an instant, clearing the dishes and taking Ludwig's hand. They're so couple-like, Gilbert has to laugh. His little brother probably doesn't even realize all the things Feliciano does for him. He's half out of it, judging by the way he leans slightly against Feliciano's shoulder.

"Do you think Ludwig realizes?"

Roderich's voice is soft, too soft, and it sends shivers across Gilbert's skin. He takes another drink.

"Nein, he's too oblivious." The alcohol burns his throat on the way down. It's not enough, though - needs to be _drunk_ , needs to not know what he's doing. It doesn't matter anymore.

"Is there something wrong, Gilbert?"

Roderich slides closer. Puts his hand on Gilbert's knee and looks at him, finally, so fucking earnest and concerned.

"Why would something be wrong?"

"Gilbert. I know you well enough to tell when you're upset. You can talk to me, you know."

Takes another swig of beer. He's starting to feel drunk, finally. "It's the economy. They don't know how to stabilize it yet. I could -" another drink, "get sick again, apparently. It's going downhill."

Roderich's hand tightens around his knee. "How long?"

Shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it does! Your health matters, Gilbert."

Shrugs, again. His bottle is empty - needs another one. Reaches across the table for the bottle that Ludwig abandoned, but Roderich snatches it away.

"I think you've had enough."

"Aww, Specs, get that stick out of your ass. I can drink as much beer as I want to."

"I'm cutting you off." He even _looks_ serious - eyebrows furrowed, hint of a smile buried behind a disapproving frown, fingers tapping out an uneven rhythm against the table. He's probably not even aware that he's doing it; music is so ingrained in him that it comes out in surprising moments like this, moments that Gilbert has never fully managed to be able to predict.

"Fuck off," he shoots back, fixing a sloppy sneer on his lips. "You can't stop me." Gets up and walks to the fridge - and then Roderich is right behind him, slamming the door shut and yanking Gilbert back.

Except, he overestimates Gilbert's resistance.

Nearly unbalances the both of them - they go toppling back until Roderich's back hits the wall. Gilbert's hands land on either side of his head, effectively pinning him.

He swallows. Licks his lips. Gilbert's eyes follow the motion, and then flick up to meet Roderich's eyes.

"Move," Roderich says, but there's a waver in his voice that wasn't there before.

"What's-a-matter, Roddy? Got a problem with this?"

"Personal space, Gilbert."

"How's this for personal?" Takes a step closer - presses their chests together, just enough for Roderich to be able to feel it. Roderich shivers, and bites his lip.

Maybe - maybe Gilbert isn't the only one who feels this.

Presses a little closer, tilts his head and leans it forward - and then Roderich's hands are on his shoulder, pushing him back, and Gilbert feels the rejection like a knife to the heart.

"You're drunk," Roderich says firmly. "And I am not one of your _conquests_. Kindly see yourself to bed, before you make a fool of yourself."

Gilbert drops his hands to his sides. Roderich adjusts his cravat, scowls at Gilbert, and hurries from the room. Gilbert - he takes a deep breath and leans against the wall, blinking back tears.

_Fuck_. He _always_ screws things up.

 

Ludwig leans against the door and ignores the insistent hand trying to tug him over to the bed. It stops - and then Feliciano's hand slides into his and squeezes. Warmth spreads through his chest, and he exhales and opens his eyes. Feliciano's eyebrows are pinched together.

"I'm alright," Ludwig says. "You don't have to worry."

"I do worry," Feliciano whispers. "I always worry. You don't look okay, Ludwig."

"I -" Can't lie to Feliciano. "I would rather not talk about it."

And - if it were anyone else, they would push. They would try to force him to talk. But Feliciano just nods and squeezes his hand again.

"That's alright, Luddy, you don't have to. I'll be here when you're ready to talk, though, okay?"

Nods, and lets Feliciano tug him over to the bed. Sits down on the edge and just stares at the floor - the thoughts that swirl in his mind aren't the best, and it's too hard for him to focus on anything. But - Feliciano seems to understand. He stands in front of Ludwig and carefully works out the knot in his tie until it slips off his neck. He unbuttons Ludwig's shirt, enough for him to breathe a little easier, and unties his shoes and pulls them off. He pushes Ludwig back, a little, and fumbles at his belt. Ludwig goes bright red - and Feliciano doesn't seem to notice. Just slips the belt off and drops it to the floor with the rest of Ludwig's things and smiles at him.

"Can you do the rest yourself?" he asks.

Ludwig manages to nod.

"Alright, then. I'm going to go put pajamas on. When I come back, I want you laying down, okay?"

Nods, again. He fumbles at the buttons on his shirt as Feliciano leaves.

It takes him longer than it should to strip down to his boxers and put on a t-shirt - and Feliciano still hasn't come back. Wonders, idly, if the Italian is trying to give him some time to pull himself together.

He's under the covers when Feliciano comes back in. The Italian's smile is gentle as he slides into bed next to Ludwig. Nestles in close, curl bobbing in the air as he wraps both of his arms around one of Ludwig's.

"Good night, Luddy," he whispers.

"Gilbert -" he stops, because _what does he say?_ But Feliciano deserves an answer, at least, for being so patient. For not pushing and letting Ludwig collect his thoughts. "The economy isn't stable. He could get sick again. I don't know for how long."

Feliciano's silent for a while - long enough for Ludwig to think he's fallen asleep. He's just given up on getting a response when Feliciano sits up and looks at him.

"Gilbert will be okay. He has you to protect him."

Then he lays back down, closes his eyes, and nestles close to Ludwig.

Ludwig - Ludwig doesn't know what to say to that. Doesn't know what to say to the sudden warmth that blooms in his chest and his stomach. Doesn't know what to do - so he settles for curling up, pressing into Feliciano's space and resting his head against the Italian's shoulder. It's - it should be awkward, this way, but it feels natural. Feels like he's safe. And with Feliciano's words ringing in his head, pushing away his negative thoughts, he closes his eyes and lets sleep pull him under.


	15. Burning Embers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. Life was kicking my ass for a while. I promise, regular updates are starting now. Also, for those of you wondering, House of Nations will be updated within the next few days, schedule permitting.

The coffee clutched in his hands isn't nearly enough to keep him awake. He's nodding off over the table, head coming down to rest on his hands - at least, until he shakes himself awake and forces his eyes to stay open, staring at the blank wall across from him. He's done a damn good job of keeping his thoughts away from everything that had happened yesterday, but exhaustion is starting to wear down his defenses. He sets his empty cup down and clenches his hands on the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. He needs to _do_ something, can't keep sitting here like this - he doesn't like to be useless, never has, always needed something to do with his hands to keep his mind occupied from the thoughts that rattle around in his brain. That's why he wants to go back to the front, to do the job he was _meant_ to do - but Ludwig's promise rings loud and clear. He won't let Gilbert back onto the front unless Ludwig is right there beside him, fighting with him.

And Gilbert will never put his little brother through that kind of hell again.

There are soft footsteps behind him, and he tenses. Then there's a warm hand on his shoulder, light fingertips pressing lightly against his skin, and he closes his eyes.

"Have you been awake all night?"

Of course it's Roderich.

"Ja."

"You need to sleep, Gilbert."

"I know. Insomniac, remember?"

Roderich slides into the chair next to him and peers at him with guarded eyes. He hates it, hates the barrier of space that Roderich's put between them, and hates himself even more for putting it there. All because he had to get drunk. He's an idiot, an honest-to-God idiot and he -

"Come to bed."

"I - what?"

It's certainly not what he was expecting, after his colossal fuck up the night before - but Roderich's as serious as Gilbert's ever seen him.

"You seem to sleep better when you're not alone. I don't mind. Come on, you look dead on your feet."

Roderich stands up and tugs on his arm - and Gilbert's still struggling to understand what Roderich is doing. Lets himself be pulled up the stairs - nearly trips, and Roderich keeps him steady with a well-placed hand and a quiet huff of amusement. Then they're in Roderich's room, and he's being pushed onto the bed.

"Why?" he asks, but it comes out as more of a croak.

Roderich hesitates. Sighs. "I . . . don't like seeing you hurting. I want to do something to help. I don't mind having you here, really. I - I sleep much better, too, when I have someone with me."

Bites his lip. It's so tempting, _so_ tempting - and he shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he nods and lays back and lets Roderich slide into bed beside him. Pulls the covers up around his shoulders and curls up with his back to Roderich, biting his lip and hating the way he can feel Roderich's warmth all over his body.

"Relax, Gil," Roderich murmurs. "I'm not going to hurt you."

It's - not what he expected Roderich to say, but it soothes away some of the tension he'd been holding onto. Exhales, loudly, and closes his eyes.

"I'm . . . Italy is bombing Paris."

"I know." Roderich sighs. "I'm sorry, Gil. I know you never wanted it to come to this. We're not going to let you die, though."

"I - I let him, Roddy. H-He came to me, asked for _permission_ to bomb Paris. A-A-And I said yes. What the fuck kind of friend am I?"

"You're still his friend." Roderich's hand rubs circles across his back. "For the moment, though, you're enemies. This won't last long, Gilbert, and then the two of you can make amends."

Snorts. Rolls his eyes. "This has lasted too long as it is. I never wanted this. People are _dying_ and it's my fault."

"Don't you dare say that!"

Flinches back - Roderich's voice is sharp. Closes his eyes and swallows and clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white.

"This isn't your fault, Gilbert. This is _their_ fault, for forcing you to die without giving you a chance to defend yourself. They're - they don't deserve to suffer, but they deserve _some_ kind of punishment for what they've done to you, made you suffer for the last decade of your life."

Gilbert shudders and leans back against Roderich. "I don't want them to suffer. I just - I wanted to die, and have them move on with their lives and forget about me."

"How can you say that?" Roderich demands. "How could you expect Ludwig to forget about you? Or Eliza? Or Antonio and Francis? Or - or me?"

"It would have been better that way," Gilbert insists. Tries to keep the tears from reaching his voice. "I _wanted_ to be forgotten. I've caused too much pain to be worth saving anymore."

He's not going to cry, damn it. He's gotten past this, he's okay - no, fuck that, he's not okay. He'll probably never be okay. But it's - it's easy to pretend when he's like this, when Roderich's arms are around him, keeping him safe and protected. Turns, and presses his face against Roderich's chest, letting his shit muffle the tears that are starting to fall. Clenches his fists into the smooth fabric and clings tighter as his shoulders shake with silent sobs.

"Shh, Gil." Roderich's fingers curl in his hair, soothing and gentle. "You're okay. We're going to be okay, I promise. I'm not going to let you go through this war on your own, not like last time, okay? We'll get through this together. You and me and Lizzy and Ludwig and Feliciano and Lovino."

Nods, and clings tighter to Roderich's shirt. Yawns a little. Roderich's fingers are still curling through his hair, so gentle and relaxing.

"Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."

Nods, again, and shifts into a more comfortable position. Takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. He's drowsy, all of a sudden, and he's not sure whether it's because he feels safe in Roderich's arms or because he's gone so long without sleeping. Yawns again, and lets himself be soothed asleep.

 

It's well past sunrise when Arthur's eyes open. He's curled around Francis, arms wrapped tight around the blonde's waist. He untangles himself slowly, battling with the blankets until he can sit up. Leans over and shakes Francis' shoulders. Francis groans and pulls the blankets over his head.

"Francis, come on. You've got to wake up."

"Don't wanna."

"We have a meeting in twenty minutes and it'll take us that long just to drive there."

"Call in sick."

"Francis, please. You need to be there, too."

"Non, Sourcils."

Blinks. "Sourcils?"

There's a muffled snort. "Figure it out."

Shakes Francis' shoulders again. "Come on, you can't skip meetings. Allons y!"

The blankets get pushed down enough for one blue eye to glare at him.  Grins and pulls it down farther. Francis' eyes narrow against the sudden light.

"You can't hide in here forever," Arthur says softly. "We've got a meeting to go to. Want me to make breakfast?"

Francis is out of bed before he's done speaking. "Non, non," he says hastily, "that won't be necessary. I can make breakfast. I would prefer to avoid any accidental kitchen fires this morning."

Arthur huffs and crosses his arms. "That was one time, and your bloody stove was asking for it."

"Angleterre, when are you going to learn that you do not pour water on a gas stove?"

"It's not like I meant to start a fire! Shit, you act like I did it on purpose. Piss off, wanker."

Francis smiles at him from the door and beckons at him with one finger. "Are you coming or not? I won't wait all day for you."

Huffs, again, and follows the Frenchman downstairs.

 

Pain shoots like lightening through his veins. Flickering flames dance behind his closed eyelids, taunting him and burning him. He struggles, limbs weighed and useless at his sides. There's an ugly, horrified shriek reverberating through the room, hurting his ears - and it takes him a moment to realize that it's _him_ , _he's_ the one that's screaming. Tries to close his mouth - chokes on ash that isn't there and presses back into the sheets that he can barely feel. His scream cuts off, but the pathetic whimpering that replaces it isn't much better.

"Roderich? Roderich, what's wrong."

It's Gilbert. Of course it's Gilbert. He can't suffer in peace, even once. Doesn't want Gilbert to see him like this - he's sure it isn't pretty, whatever's happening to his skin that hurts _so much_ \- but doesn't want Gilbert to leave. Waits; hopes to feel Gilbert's cool hands on his skin, soothing the burning, but there's nothing. Manages to crack one eye open - Gilbert's leaning over him, eyes blown wide with panic as he stares down at Roderich's body. Under normal circumstances, Roderich would find his level of scrutiny awkward and uncomfortable. Now, though, it's starting to freak him out.

Opens his mouth and coughs through another layer of ash. "What is it," he croaks.

"You're -" Gilbert shudders. "You're burning, Roddy."

"Vienna." Another cough scrapes through his throat, leaving it unpleasantly raw. Struggles to take a deep breath. There are weights on his chest and ash in his lungs and he _can't breathe_ , can barely think through the haze of fire and pain and Gilbert's brilliant scarlet eyes that his world has narrowed down to.

"You're going to be okay," Gilbert whispers. "I promise. I'm - I'm going to take care of you, okay, so don't you worry. I won't leave until you're better. Now, just - just close your eyes, okay? Don't strain yourself."

Does as he's told. Closes his eyes and presses back against the pillows and tries to take shallow breaths. He's burning and dying and he can't even enjoy the cold hand that slips into his and holds it tightly. Can barely summon the energy to squeeze it back. Wants to say - wants to say everything he's never said before, but he can't move his mouth, can't make his throat work the way he wants it to.

Is this how he dies? Vienna, burned to the ground? What of his people, his nation? What will happen to them if he's gone?

Can't - can't think like that, because it'll drive him crazy. Fire crackles through his veins and sears his skin and drags into welcome unconsciousness.

 

The meeting's a disaster, and Arthur's not entirely sure why he expected it to be anything else. Francis checked out the moment it began - his eyes are glazed over and his hands are clenched on his knees, and Arthur is sure that he's stopped breathing at least three times in the last twenty minutes. He keeps nudging his foot under the table, keeping his mind in the present as best he can while surrounded by their leaders and government officials.

When lunch is called, Arthur pulls Francis into an empty room and rubs his shoulders and whispers to him until Francis comes back down from whatever moment he'd been reliving. Then he wraps his arms around the Frenchman's shoulders and holds him until he stops shaking. When he finally looks up, it's like all the light has gone out of his eyes. It tugs at Arthur's heart, and he tightens his arms around Francis' shoulders without realizing what he's doing.

"It's going to be okay," he murmurs against Francis' forehead. Presses his lips there in a gentle, soothing kiss, and tries to ignore the way Francis stills beneath him. "You're going to be okay, I promise. I'll keep you in the present, alright? I'll keep you out of your flashbacks."

"How," Francis whispers.

"I - I'll keep a hold of your hand. Under the table. Whenever you start to drift, I'll squeeze your hand. Will that work?"

Francis nods slowly. "Oui, I - I think that will help. You can try it."

"Alright. Are you ready to go back to the meeting?"

"Non, but we must. They will be expecting us." Gets to his feet slowly, and leans on Arthur's shoulder until they're back in the meeting room.

Arthur slides his chair a little closer and pulls Francis' hand into both of his. He usually takes notes - but Francis' wellbeing is far more important to him than weapon statistics. Tunes out most of what his boss says, with how carefully he watches Francis. The Frenchman is more focused, though, and manages to take a few notes with his free hand.

Then the bad news starts.

Arthur's boss stands up and gives a detailed explanation of the current European situation - namely, a large terrorist attack on Vienna that has resulted in one of the most destructive city fires they've ever seen.

Francis' hand clenches into a fist. He's shaking, almost unnoticeably, but Arthur's learned to see the signs as what they are - symptoms. He clutches Francis' hand tighter and, with a well-aimed elbow to the Frenchman's ribs, pulls him back from whatever memory he's been trapped in.

The look he received is nothing short of grateful. Blushes, a little, and looks down.

"Will Vienna be okay?" Francis' voice only shakes a little.

Arthur knows it's not Vienna that he's asking about.

"It's impossible to tell at this point. The fires need to be put out before anyone can assess the damage. Unfortunately, Austria is having a bit of a dry spell. The rain isn't coming, and strong winds have been carrying the fire to other districts. The whole city could be destroyed if they can't douse the flames soon."

"Ah. I see." Francis swallows, and leans a little closer to Arthur. Arthur squeezes his hand and tries to flash his most comforting smile. It doesn't fool Francis, though.

Clears his throat. "Sir? I think it would be best if Francis and I returned home for the time being. I'm still exhausted from the night raids, and I could use some more rest."

"Of course, Arthur. Keep me informed of how you're doing. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, sir. I'll keep that in mind." Softer, to Francis, he says, "Come on. You need rest."

Francis doesn't resist the hand that tugs him to his feet and from the room. He's silent on the drive back, staring out the window and twisting his fingers together. He's silent as Arthur heats up what's left of that morning's breakfast and makes him eat. He's silent while Arthur clears the dishes, and as Arthur tugs him upstairs into his room. He doesn't speak until he's laying down with the blankets tucked up to his chin, hair spread out on the pillow.

"Merci, Angleterre," he whispers softly, so softly that Arthur isn't sure that he really spoke at first.

"Don't mention it," he mumbles. "You did the same for me during the Blitz. Now it's my turn to take care of you."

"Come here."

Finishes changing into one of his favorite oversized night shirts and slips into bed next to Francis. It's already warm under the sheets. Francis shifts closer, legs pressing together and feet tangling under the blankets. His head ends up on Arthur's shoulder, nestled into the space between his shoulder and his neck. He sighs, and his breath ghosts across Arthur's skin.

"Bonne nuit, Arthur."

"Good night, Francis."

 

He comes to with gentle fingers rubbing circles against his scalp. Tries to move his head, lean into the touch - and pain shoots through every inch of his body.

Whimpers, and peers up at the worried albino perched next to him.

"Hey, Roddy." Gilbert tries to smile, but it comes out as more of a grimace. "How are you feeling?"

"Like you stuck me in the oven," Roderich mumbles. His voice cracks an embarrassing total of three times and his throat feels like sandpaper.

Gilbert's fingers keep curling through his hair and massaging his head, and he's already half asleep when Gilbert decides to speak again.

"They put the fires out."

"How long?" Feels Gilbert's wince.

"Three days. Most of Vienna is -"

"I know. I can feel it." Coughs into his hand and grimaces when he sees the spots of blood. "Can I -" cough, "have some water? My throat feels like it's made of sandpaper."

"Of course. I'll be right back."

 

Gilbert's thoroughly shaken by the time he comes back from getting a glass of water for Roderich. So many burns - it's hard to understand _how_ Roderich is still alive, let alone talking and being awake.

Walks back into the room with a big glass of ice water - and Roderich's asleep again, hair a disaster against the pillow as he breathes in and out, more peaceful than he has been for the past three days. A small smile plays over Gilbert's lips, and he settles in beside the Austrian, careful to avoid touching the blistering burns that liter almost every inch of Roderich's body. They look painfully raw - but there are some places that are starting to heal already. In a panic, Gilbert had ripped open Roderich's button up shirt - and the burns right above his heart have turned the pink of new skin. He's healing, and Gilbert has never been more relieved in his life.

Settles in beside the comatose Austrian and slips his arm under Roderich's head, drawing him as close as he can without touching the burns. Lays back and stares at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the war press in on all sides as he struggles to breathe through the rising panic. He's done a good job of focusing on Roderich, of taking care of him while he was unconscious - but now that he's awake, now that Gilbert knows he's going to be okay, it's hard to keep his mind from straying back to the original problem.

_It's his fault_.

Granted, he didn't set the city on fire. But the people that did were doing it to protest _him_ , his existence, his nation. The war he didn't want to fight. So, in a way, it's still his fault. His fault that Roderich is a burned mess and going through some of the worst pain of his life. His fault that all of those people, _Roderich's_ people, are dead or dying because of the fire. His fault that he's living while so many good people, people that had lives and children and people who loved them, are dying for a cause that they don't believe in.

Stares at the ceiling and lets these thoughts float around in his head until it threatens to drive him insane.

Sleep doesn't come that night.


	16. Flashbacks and Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack! With a sort of long chapter to make up for my ridiculously unexcusable absence.

Pain crackles through already-sore veins. Ghostly nails scarcely scratch the surface of raw skin, little pinpricks of pain that tear ugly whimpers through his aching throat. Blissful unawareness floats along the edges of conscious, taunting him, heightening the pain.

Cool fingers fasten around his wrists, holding flailing hands down against the sheets that rub and tear his mutilated flesh. Another whimper; cold lips press burning kisses to the inside of his wrists.

“You’re going to be okay,” a voice whispers. “I promise.”

“Gil,” he croaks, throat straining to make noise.

“Shh,” Gilbert soothes. There’s a dip in the bed; then a cold body settles next to his burning flesh, easing some of the heat that radiates from every inch of his skin. He leans into it, ignores the spike of pain, and presses his healing face into Gilbert’s cool shoulder.

“Hurts.” It’s no more than a broken crack of sound, pathetic at best, but Gilbert understands. He always understands.

“I know, Roddy. You’re going to be okay, though. We’re working on it, I promise. Just hold on a little bit longer, okay? Don’t leave me now.”

“Not -” an ugly cough rips through his throat. Searing pain tears through his insides. Another whimper, more like a sob this time, before Gilbert’s cool hands brush through his hair and soothe away some of the pain.

“Do you want anything? Water?”

He nods, not trusting himself to speak. The cool hands are gone, and he nearly cries out at their absence. But then they’re back, sliding into his hair and rubbing circles into the palm of his undamaged hand.

“Lift your head a little.”

Manages to crack one eye open. Blinding light greets him and draws another pathetic whimper through his lips. Blinks spots from his eyes and does his best to lift his head. Pain sluices through his body, like drops of water running from head to toe. Bites back a whimper and manages to suck down a little bit of water. Cool relief spreads through his aching throat.

“Better?”

Nods again and lowers his head back down to the pillow. Gilbert’s fingers are still playing with his hair. Shifts - leans a little closer - and presses his face into the space between Gilbert’s neck and shoulders. Cool skin warms his burning forehead while gentle fingers slowly lull him to sleep.

“Stay,” he breathes into Gilbert’s skin.

“I will,” Gilbert promises. “Always.”

Blissful unawareness takes over.

 

“How long are you going to stay there?”

Eliza’s voice startles him out of sleep. Rubs one hand across his eyes and peers through the darkening room at the Hungarian girl.

“As long as he wants me here.”

Eliza sighs and settles into Gilbert’s vacated chair next to the bed. “You’ve got to take care of yourself, too, you know. It’s been two days. When was your last meal?”

Gilbert actually has to think about that. It must show on his face, because Eliza makes a displeased noise and grabs his wrist.

“Gilbert!” she chastises. “You can’t do this to yourself. You’re still recovering from wounds. You can’t protect Roderich if you can’t even keep up your own strength.”

He winces. “I know. I don’t want to leave him, though. H-He looks better today, Eliza, I couldn’t just leave him on his own. I had to make sure he was okay.”

Eliza’s expression softens into fondness. “I know. He’s one of your closest friends.” She sighs again. “I shouldn’t judge you too harshly, I suppose. If you weren’t keeping watch, I certainly would be there in your place.”

“Do you still love him?”

The words are out of his mouth before his brain catches up. _Fuck_. He hadn’t meant to - he knows what that’s going to sound like to Eliza, and he doesn’t want her to know, doesn’t want _anyone_ to know -

“In a way.” Eliza seems more thoughtful than prying, and Gilbert breathes a soft sigh of relief. “We were married for so long. Of course I loved him while we were married, and I still care about him just as deeply as I did back then. I’m not _in love_ with him, though, if that’s what you’re asking. He and I discovered that we have . . . different preferences.” A wry smile. “Didn’t he tell you?”

Gilbert shakes his head. _Different preferences? Does she mean what I think she means?_

“Ah, well, it’s not my place to speak for him. Ask him when he’s better, if you’re not too chicken.”

Gilbert flushes red and flashes an obnoxious frown. “I am the awesome Prussia!” he declares. “There is nothing _chicken_ about mein awesomeness. Take that back.”

“Nah, I’m good.” She crosses her arms and leans back in the chair. “Anyways, I came in here to tell you how the meeting went. The fires are almost completely extinguished, so Vienna should be starting reconstruction within the next few hours. Roderich’s boss is going to give a speech meant to rally the people. So, if everything goes as planned, he should start the healing process sometime within the next few hours.”

“Thank Gott,” Gilbert whispers. He glances down at Roderich’s sleeping face, so peaceful despite the burns that cover almost every inch of skin.

“Which means,” an edge creeps into her voice, “you can take a break from sitting with him and go take a shower, get something to eat, and take a nap. He’ll be fine for a couple of hours. I’ll stay with him.”

Gilbert’s shaking his head before she’s even done speaking. “Nein. Nein, I won’t leave him. He needs me.”

“Gil, he needs you to be healthy. You look like you’re going to pass out any second now. What would Ludwig say if he could see you like this?”

“Mein bruder would understand. After all, he did the same thing while I was sick.”

“That’s different. You could have died at any moment. Ludwig didn’t want you to be alone. Roderich isn’t going to die from these burns.”

“I won’t leave him.” Gilbert turns his head away and tries to ignore her. Doesn’t she understand? He needs Roderich to be okay, needs him to stop hurting and wake up. He hates feeling helpless, despises it more than anything in the world. His country isn’t powerful enough to help Roderich recover from this, so the only thing Gilbert can do is stay with him and take care of him until he’s better. “Besides,” he adds, “Ludwig isn’t here to yell at me. He doesn’t need to know about this. Right?”

“So help me, Gilbert, I will call him right now if you don’t get your scrawny ass out of bed. You need to eat something, and you need to take a long nap.” Eliza stands up, hands gravitating toward the frying pan tied to her waist. “I will knock you out and force feed you if I have to, but I will not let you starve yourself out of some misguided attempt to protect him. _He’s not in danger anymore_.”

“I don’t want to leave him!” Gilbert snaps. “He needs me!”

“He needs you to take care of yourself.”

Gilbert knows she’s right, but he doesn’t want to admit defeat. He raises his chin in defiance and sinks a little deeper into the bed. Roderich’s face is still pressed against the side of his neck, breathing deep and even.

“I know you love him, Gil, but please. You need to take care of yourself before you can take care of other people.”

He sighs. “Why do you always have to be right?”

Eliza smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve watched too many people waste away trying to protect the ones they love. I’ll be damned if I let it happen to my best friend.”

Gilbert slowly extricates himself from the bed, propping pillows under Roderich so that he doesn’t know Gilbert is gone. Eliza throws her arms around his waist, nearly sending him toppling backward.

“Jesus, Eliza,” he grunts. “Careful.”

“Take care of yourself,” she whispers, voice muffled in his shirt. “Please. I can’t lose you.”

Something painful lodges itself in Gilbert’s throat. He returns the hug, wrapping his arms around Eliza’s shoulders and hugging her close.

“I’m going anywhere,” he promises. “I’m staying right here, just to annoy the shit out of you for the rest of forever.”

There’s a muffled laugh. Then she lifts her head up and peers at him with watery eyes. “I’m holding you to that promise, bastard.” She steps back and smoothes down her green dress. “Now, go bug one of the cute little Italians until they make you some food. There are melatonin capsules in the bathroom if you need them.”

“Danke.” He shifts from foot to foot for a moment. Then - “I guess I’ll just . . . go, then.”

“Yes. Good idea.” Eliza’s smiling, though. “Oh, go on. I’ll be sure to wake you if anything changes.” She gives him a little push. Gilbert looks back one more time at Roderich’s sleeping face before leaving the room.

His hands shake as he makes his way down the hallway to Ludwig’s room. Feliciano’s inside, sorting through some laundry. He looks up when Gilbert knocks, smiling his usual bright smile.

“Gil! How’s Roderich doing? Is there anything I can do to help?”

“He’s good,” Gilbert says. “Uh, Eliza kicked me out because I haven’t eaten in a while. Are there any leftovers or something? I haven’t been in the kitchen so I don’t know what we have.”

Feliciano jumps up before he finishes speaking. “Oh! No, no, I will make you something to eat! I can make wurst now, do you want some wurst? Or I could make pizza or pasta or even churros, Big Brother Spain has been teaching me recipes for Spanish food!”

“Whatever’s quick is fine. I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay.”

“Si, of course! You go on and get ready for bed, I’ll bring you up some food soon! Okay?”

“Alright.”

He chuckles a little as Feliciano goes bouncing out the door and down the stairs. _Crazy Italian_ , he thinks fondly. _Ludwig could do a lot worse than that kid, if he ever stops being in denial_. He snorts as he walks into the bathroom. Sure enough, melatonin capsules sit on the edge of the sink. Gilbert takes one, hands shaking as he rips open the packaging and swallows it. He hasn’t needed them in years, had hoped that his newfound nation status would somehow cure him of the insomnia that’s plagued him for nearly a century.

Stares at himself in the mirror for a long minute. He looks tired, even to himself, and that’s never a good sign. Bags hang under his eyes, announcing to the world that he’s sleep-deprived. Shakes his head a little and turns away from his reflection. Strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. Hot water burns his skin at first, then melts into a comforting heat. He washes quickly, ever aware of the melatonin working its way into his system.

Steps out and dries off. Sneaks across the hall and grabs pajama pants from his room. It’s too warm for a shirt, too much like Roderich’s overheated skin to be comfortable to sleep in.

A knock at the door startles him. Jumps, a little, and makes a face at himself for being so scatterbrained. Feliciano pokes his head through the door, holding a plate of French toast and a glass of milk.

“Here,” he says, voice softer than normal. “You said you hadn’t eaten in a while, so I thought it would be a good idea to go easy on your stomach. French toast is always good! And I brought you warm milk, because I know that always helps me sleep when I’m having a rough night, so I thought it might help you, too.”

A small smile tilts the corners of Gilbert’s lips up. “Danke, Feliciano.” He takes the offered plate and cup and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Here, sit. Plenty of room.” He slides over to make room for the sheepish Italian. “Does mein bruder know how lucky he is to have you looking out for him?”

Feliciano turns crimson and covers his face with his hands. “I-I don’t know!” he squeaks. “I’m not doing anything special, really, I’m just trying to be helpful because I know how hard everyone is working to make things go well and I just want to be helpful!”

“You are helpful,” Gilbert mumbles around a large bite of French toast. Swallows, and continues. “Mein bruder really loves having you here, even if he doesn’t like to admit it. You make everything more cheerful, and he could really use that sometimes. Well, more like always, but you know what I mean.”

Feliciano giggles. “Si! He’s so serious sometimes.”

Gilbert listens to Feliciano ramble on while he finishes the French toast and drains the glass of milk. A warm, sleepy feeling settles over him, pulling his eyes halfway closed. A yawn escapes his mouth. He blinks too long, and suddenly Feliciano’s there, pushing him down on the bed with surprising ease.

“Good night, Gilbert,” he whispers. “Sleep well.”

A blanket settles over him, cocooning him in warmth, and whatever he was about to say gets lost as his eyes closed and sleep pulls him under.

 

_1666\. Embers blanket the city like freshly fallen snow. Blistering heat sears through the night. Flames dance and flicker across the edges of his vision, nearly driving him mad with pain and sorrow. He stands on the balcony of his home, as yet untouched by the creeping flames, and watches as his city burns to the ground around him. A deep breath of air draws in soot and smoke. A hacking coughing pierces through the screams and yells of the burning. He doubles over, gasping for air and relief. St. Paul’s Cathedral is the backdrop to the destruction. An emblem of peace and prosperity and hope, vanquished in something as trivial as a fire. It burns, more than the fire itself. He weeps for it, for the destruction of his city and the peaceful lives of his people._

_1940\. There’s no water, no fucking water, and he feels all of the hopelessness of his people wash over him like the nonexistent tide washing over the banks of the River Thames. St. Paul’s is burning again. He can feel it, standing out among the other city buildings. It hurts, almost as much as the bombs that fall like blankets of fire and hatred around him. He’s on his knees, he can’t breathe, can’t do anything to save his city from a fiery death. Hopelessness - his own, not his people’s - tugs until his heart is as black as the soot that covers the city like freshly fallen snow. Each death is a flare of light against his closed eyelids, reminding him that he is not the only one suffering from this destruction, this unmitigated carnage._

“Arthur.”

_More bombs rain down, bursting like fireworks against the backdrop of an otherwise black night. The roar of flames resonates in his ears, nearly driving him to that darkest place in his heart. It’s a narrow ledge that he walks on, staring down into the abyss of hatred and anger._

“Arthur, wake up.”

_Pulls back from the edge and tries to calm his racing heart. He can’t go there, can’t succumb to the same level of evil as the people he is fighting. Can’t let himself become like them - forces of hatred and destruction and carnage. He’s not like them. He can’t be._

“Arthur!”

Bloodshot eyes fly open. He’s disoriented - can’t tell where he is or what time he’s in. Sapphire eyes bore into his through the semi darkness of the room, grounding him in the present.

“What -”

“Nightmare,” Francis whispers. “You were having a nightmare.”

It comes back to him in pieces. St. Paul’s Cathedral, burning; London burning; people dying, crying, begging for someone to save them; the River Thames, too low to provide the water needed to save the city from mass destruction. Tears burn in his eyes and he tries to turn away, to keep Francis from seeing how weak he is - not that it matters, after everything they’ve gone through together - but Francis pulls him back and tucks him close, hands rubbing circles into his back.

“Shh, Angleterre. It’s okay. You’re awake now. London is safe.”

“No it’s not,” Arthur chokes out. “He’s going to destroy it, just like he did last time. I know he is.”

“Non, non, shh. You are much better prepared, oui? You are smarter, your firemen are smarter. You won’t let the same thing happen twice.” He pulls Arthur into a sitting position. “You should take a shower, a cold one, to get the memories out of your head. Come on.”

Arthur lets himself be tugged out of bed. He goes through the motions in a daze; undressing, showering, cleaning and rinsing, and getting dried off. He slips his pajamas back on and stares at his reflection in the mirror. Hollow, lifeless eyes stare back at him, sending a shiver of unease down his spine. Tears himself away from the reflection and wanders back into Francis’ room.

“Ah, there you are.”

Francis is propped up on a couple of pillows, laptop on his lap and two cups of tea in his hand. Something painful lodges itself in Arthur’s throat. Takes a couple steps closer, tries to say something - but Francis holds up a hand to stop his words.

“You don’t have to say anything. Come, have some tea. We can watch TV until you are ready to go back to sleep, if that’s already with you.

Wordlessly nods. Crawls into bed next to Francis and downs his cup of tea. Curls up with his head on Francis’ shoulder and settles in for a _Doctor Who_ marathon. Francis’ fingers curl through his hair, gentle and soothing, and Arthur barely keeps his eyes open through one episode before he’s falling asleep against the Frenchman’s shoulders, peaceful and happy.

 

He’s exhausted right down to his core by the time he stumbles through the door. Weekend conferences should be considered cruel and unusual punishment, and will surely be the death of him at some point in the near future. His eyes are more open than closed by the time he gets his shoes off, and he’s seriously considering just collapsing on the couch. Isn’t sure he has the strength left in him to make it up the stairs to his room without collapsing on the stairs or injuring himself in some embarrassing way. Has almost made up his mind when he stumbles, the room spinning dangerously as he clings to the windowsill to keep himself upright.

“Luddy!”

Groans a bit, because out of all the people that had to find him like this it _had_ to be Feliciano. Doesn’t want to seem weak or useless, but it’s a hopeless situation when Feliciano keeps finding him like this, tired and worn out beyond recognition.

Thin arms wrap around his waist and help keep him upright. He leans into Feliciano’s hug to stop himself from swaying.

“Come on, Luddy, let’s get you up to bed. You need a long sleep.”

Stumbles as he tries to walk, clinging to Feliciano’s shoulders in a half-assed effort to keep himself off the floor. Feliciano seems to understand. Takes it slow, one step at a time, until Ludwig is steady enough to make it up the stairs - barely - by himself. Hooks his hands under Ludwig’s elbows at the top of the stairs and leads him down the hallway, into Ludwig’s bedroom.

Nearly groans at the sight of his bed. Feels like he could fall into it and never leave. Sways, a little, as he takes a few unsteady steps forward and collapses onto his bed with a loud groan.

“That’s it, Luddy,” Feliciano murmurs. Yanks his boots off. They hit the ground with a soft thud. Ludwig burrows deeper into the blankets, kicking off his socks and tugging the blankets up to his chin. Melts into the bed, all of the tension leaving his body as he sags with relief. _Finally, sleep_. Barely has the presence of mind to mumble Feliciano’s name. The little Italian clambers into the bed and tucks himself against Ludwig’s chest, warm and soothing as he hums what sounds like a lullaby. Ludwig’s eyes fall closed the rest of the way as sweet and blessed sleep takes over.

_Gilbert’s sprawled across the ground, blood leaking from a gash the size of Ludwig’s fist in his head. Eyes are blank and unseeing, unflinching at the rain that falls like Ludwig’s tears around his desiccated body._

_“Bruder!” Ludwig screams. He’s on his knees, he’s bleeding, but nothing matters, not unless Gilbert wakes up and opens his eyes. “Bruder!”_

_“Shh, shh, Ludwig.” Feliciano’s there, taking his hands and washing the bloodstains from the creases in his skin. “It’s okay, I’m right here, just focus on me. I’m so sorry, so sorry, but please, you have to focus.”_

_Tears blur his vision. Feliciano’s face swims in front of him, blurry and distorted. Raises a hand to wipe them away, but Feliciano beats him to it, shaking fingers brushing away the tears that threaten to spill over._

_“It’s my fault.” He shudders, gasps for breath. Pain still courses through his veins, his lungs, but that’s nothing compared to the pain in his heart. Gilbert’s dead, he’s not coming back, and it’s Ludwig’s fault._

_“Luddy, please. You have to listen to me.” Feliciano’s hands lift up Ludwig’s chin. Sad amber eyes stare into his, begging him to listen. “Gilbert isn’t dead.”_

_“B-But -”_

_“Listen!” Feliciano’s voice is urgent, demanding. “You’re relatively new to being a country, at least compared to the rest of us. You already know we don’t age and die like humans. We don’t die at all, Ludwig, not as long as we have a country to live for. Prussia still lives; Gilbert is going to come back to life.”_

_“That - that’s not possible!” He wants to believe it so badly, but he can’t, not when Gilbert’s lifeless eyes are haunting him from a distance. Can’t look anywhere else, can’t bring himself to turn away from his brother’s body, not even with Feliciano’s insistent hands trying to tug him away._

_“Ludwig! You have to help me!” Feliciano scrambles across the room and tries to gather up Gilbert’s body, but he’s not strong enough._

_“Nein!” Ludwig hisses. “L-Leave him to me!”_

_“We have to hurry!” Feliciano insists. Ludwig slides his arms under Gilbert’s body, carrying him like a baby as he follows Feliciano into Gilbert’s room._

_“Gilbert kept a first-aid kit around here somewhere,” he mutters, rummaging through Gilbert’s things. Ludwig doesn’t have the energy to snap at him, to tell him to leave Gilbert’s things alone. Cradles Gilbert’s body against his chest, tears falling freely now, as his legs give out and he collapses backwards onto Gilbert’s bed. Barely, just barely, manages to stop himself from falling all the way backwards. Hugs Gilbert’s body tighter and tries to breathe through the shuddering sobs that work their way through his chest._

_Feliciano reappears in front of him with a med kit. Yanks out bandages and cleaning cloths and a number of things Ludwig doesn’t remember ever seeing._

_“You have to let him go, Ludwig,” Feliciano whispers. Interlocks his fingers with Ludwig’s and tugs - Ludwig’s hand falls away, leaving Feliciano free to arrange Gilbert’s body on the bed. Nimble fingers work quickly, cleaning out his head wound and bandaging up like any other army nurse._

_“He needs new clothes. Ludwig - he needs clothes.”_

_His limbs move robotically. Feliciano’s made a mess of Gilbert’s room, but that only makes it easier to find Gilbert’s favorite shirt and a pair of loose pants. Passes them to Feliciano without a word. Isn’t sure how long Feliciano’s going to carry on with his delusion that Gilbert’s going to come back to life - it’s hopeless, he’s all alone, Gilbert’s never coming back._

_“Breathe, Luddy,” Feliciano whispers, and Ludwig lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Takes a deep breath and lets it out and tries to breathe through the empty ache in his heart._

_There’s a gasp. Ludwig doesn’t look up, doesn’t bother - surely it’s Feliciano realizing that it’s hopeless, that Gilbert’s gone - but then there’s the harsh sound of breathing, a ragged cough, and a whispered, “Bruder.” Ludwig’s head shoots up, eyes wide. Gilbert’s eyes are full of pain, but anything’s better than the empty nightmare of before._

_“Bruder,” Ludwig breathes._

_“I told you,” Feliciano snaps. His hands are busy, changing Gilbert’s clothes and tossing aside the bloodstained ones. “Now quick, help me. Hitler can’t know about this. He could come back at any moment.”_

_The spurs Ludwig into action. Head still reeling, he adjusts Gilbert’s clothes and helps his - alive! but how? - brother sit up. Gilbert moves his limbs reflexively, cold hands helping Feliciano massage life back into his legs._

_“What does Hitler not know?” Ludwig whispers._

_“The regeneration power,” Gilbert explains in a muted voice. “He only knows that we heal faster than humans. That’s why he thinks he can get away with stuff like this.” Gestures to his forehead. “He doesn’t know we come back to life after dying, though, and that’s the only thing keeping him from doing a lot worse - to both of us. He can’t know that I died, Ludwig, do you understand me?”_

_Ludwig nods. “J-Ja, of course, I - bruder, I -”_

_“Save it, Ludwig,” Gilbert snaps. “I know you want a tearful reunion, but we don’t have time. He’ll be back soon.”_

_“He’s coming!” Feliciano hisses. The Italian slips under the bed with ease, tucking himself back in the shadows where even Ludwig has a difficult time picking him out._

_The door slams open. Ludwig takes a step back, fear jumping into his throat. His arm snaps into position, and the mandatory “Heil Hitler!” springs to his lips._

_“So you’re alive.” The disappointment in his voice sends chills down Ludwig’s back. “I was hoping I would be rid of you.”_

_“What can I say?” Gilbert laughs, dry and humorless. “I’m a tough fucker to kill.”_

_“I see. I suppose I’ll have to do worse next time.” A raised hand - Gilbert flinches backwards, fear filling his crimson eyes, and Ludwig stands there motionless, too afraid to lift a hand against his own boss -_

“No!”

Eyes fly open. Darkness greets him like an old friend. Scrambles out from under the covers. He’s halfway across the room before he realizes what he’s doing - chasing after ghosts like they’re still alive.

Feliciano blinks at him from the bed, rumpled and sleep disheveled. “Luddy? Are you okay?”

He’s shaking too hard to answer. Chokes on his words, tears budding in his eyes as he tries to say something, _anything_ \- but then Feliciano’s there, in front of him, and his chest opens up enough to let him suck in a breath. Gulps down air like he’s starving and just stands there shivering, while Feliciano’s hands on his shoulders are the only things keeping him from falling apart.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Shakes his head.

“Nightmare?”

Hesitates, then nods. Feels more than hears the small breath Feliciano lets out.

“Do you want a sleeping pill?”

“I - what?”

“I know what you’re thinking, I know how you feel about them, but Luddy you really need sleep. When was the last time you slept through a full night without waking up?” Doesn’t wait for Ludwig’s answer - and besides, they both know the answer anyways. “It will help you get to sleep and _stay_ asleep. And no dreams, I promise, unless they work differently for you than they do for me.”

“Okay.”

“And yes, they do have side effects, but really, they’re not -”

“Feliciano.” Ludwig wraps his hands around Feliciano’s small wrists. “I said okay.”

“Oh.” Turns a bit red and bites his lip. “Right, I - I’ll go get them.” Slips away and out the door before Ludwig has a chance to say something. Climbs back in bed while he waits for the Italian to return and does his best to keep his mind away from the past. It doesn’t work very well, and he’s shaking again by the time Feliciano comes back.

“Hey, Ludwig, you’re okay, I promise. Here, just - take this pill, yes, and the water, and make sure you finish all the water, okay, water is important and you need to stay hydrated.” Takes the cup when Ludwig’s down and puts it on the nightstand, and then pulls Ludwig’s head down to his chest and wraps his thing arms around Ludwig’s shoulders.

“Danke,” Ludwig whispers.

“Don’t thank me,” Feliciano murmurs. “I’m just looking out for you. Someone has to, right? And really, it should be me anyways, because I’m your best friend, Luddy. I’ll always be there to help you. I promise.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the pill, or his exhaustion, or the way Feliciano’s fingers are rubbing out the tension in his shoulders, but he feels light and sleep and oh so tired. Presses his face into the fabric of Feliciano’s shirt and just breathes through the wave of fondness.

“Ja,” he manages to whisper around a yawn. “You are mein . . . best friend . . .”

His eyes slip closed as he falls asleep to the sound of Feliciano’s breathing.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mathias?”

“Of course I’m sure!” Crosses his arms and does his best to not meet Lukas’ eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“You look like you’re about to throw up.”

“Oh, gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Matt, be serious.”

Can’t stop himself from leaning into the hand that Lukas puts on his cheek. Leans into it and kisses Lukas’ palm and tries his best to smile at his beautiful Norwegian.

“I want to do this,” he says, voice softer. “Tino and Berwald are our family. I want to try to make up for being a raging asshole to Tino.”

Lukas nods. “Alright, then. I’ll be right behind you the whole time.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Mathias breathes a sigh of relief and opens the car door. Hesitates for a moment, and then forces himself out and up the steps to Berwald’s door. Doesn’t know how Lukas knew which house they were at - assumes it’s because Berwald and Lukas had some _long_ phone calls about how Mathias and Tino are both idiots - but doesn’t really care. Gothenburg is easier to get to than any place in Finland, not to mention how awesome the name sounds.

Knocks on the door before he loses his nerve. Hears Tino calling to Berwald inside, voice as happy and cheerful as ever. Plasters a hesitant smile across his face as the door flies open - and Tino’s expression goes from happy to angry in a heartbeat.

“What are you doing here?” Tino demands.

Shifts his feet and tries to keep meeting Tino’s eyes. Wants to run and hide, but Lukas’ hand on his back steadies him and keeps him grounded.

“I came here to apologize,” Mathias says. “I know I’ve been out of line, lately, and I wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

“I’m not interested in your apologies,” Tino says stiffly. “You can leave now.”

Anger washes through him. “What, just like that? You’re not even going to hear me out?”

“There’s nothing to hear.”

“Like hell there isn’t.” Takes a step forward, into Tino’s personal space. “Look, I know that I’ve fucked up and made some bad decisions in the past, but I’m making an honest effort right now. The least you could do is give me a chance to say what I have to say.”

“What if I don’t care?” Tino snaps. “The least you could do is extend me the courtesy of leaving me alone for the rest of my life.”

“What did I do to deserve this?” Mathias demands. “Yeah, I have a big mouth, but this seems a bit extreme, even by your standards.”

“My standards?” Tino’s laugh is bordering hysterical. “ _My_ standards. Den, you’re probably the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, and I’ve spent time with _drunk England_. Saying I never want to see you again is an _understatement_.”

“What the fuck have I done to you?” Mathias yells. “Why do you hate me so much? All I’ve ever wanted was for the five of us to be a family!”

“This isn’t a family. You made this into a dictatorship.” Tino sneers, specks of black swirling in his eyes. “You lorded yourself over us and pretended that you were above everything else, but when it came time to protect your ‘family’ you turned tail and rain as fast as your coward legs could carry you. Then you came crawling back with your _ridiculous_ sob story about capture and torture - but guess what? No one cares! No one except Lukas, that is, and that’s only because you’re a good lay!”

Mathias takes a step back. Blinks back tears - doesn’t want Tino to see him weak, especially not when his darkness is so close to the surface. Slips an arm around Lukas’ waist and tries to steady his breathing enough to say something. Opens his mouth - but Tino cuts him off.

“Don’t even bother!” he hisses. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I never want to hear from you again. Is that understood?” Doesn’t wait for an answer before slamming the door closed.

Mathias stands there for the longest moment of his life, staring at the closed door. Turns and flees down the pathway back to the car and hurls himself into the front seat, hands shaking so badly that it takes five tries to buckle his seatbelt. Lukas slides into the driver’s seat, impenetrable mask slipping - he looks nearly as shaken as Mathias feels.

“Matt,” he whispers, voice loud in the silence, “don’t believe him.” Presses a hand to Mathias’ cheek and leans in for a feather-light kiss. “I care because I love you.”

Swallows and turns his head away. “D-Drive. I want to go home.”

“Of course.”

The car starts. Mathias closes his eyes as they pull away from Berwald’s home. Wishes for sleep - but sleep never comes easy to him during travelling, and it’s a long ride back to Oslo. Doesn’t wait for Lukas to get out of the car - runs into the house, up the stairs, and into his room. Locks the door behind him and throws himself on his bed and waits for blissful sleep to come.

 

Lukas watches Mathias’ retreating figure with wide eyes. Doesn’t know how to help, doesn’t like feeling helpless - he can’t do anything to change Tino’s mind, or to fix the situation, because all Mathias knows is how to get angry and offended.

Makes his way slowly into the house. Drinks the cold cup of coffee he left sitting on the table earlier that day, grimacing as it slides down his throat. Ends up sitting at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister, wondering how he’s ever going to make things right with his family.

_Ropes dig in to tender skin, tugging and cutting until blood runs down his wrists. Struggles harder and harder, desperate to be free, but doesn’t have the strength to break the ropes that bind him. Cries out - for his people, for his country, for his lost freedom - but there’s no one there to hear him, no one there to save him._

_Doesn’t know how many days pass without food. His stomach’s long since gone quiet, the need fading into the background behind more pressing matters. Dehydration, sleep deprivation - there’s a long list of issues he has, and it just keeps getting longer. Can’t remember what peace and safety feel like anymore. Can’t remember anything before this damp, rotting cell._

_“Guten tag, Lukas.”_

_Can barely lift his head. Ludwig’s pristine in his military uniform, not a speck of dirt to be seen. If Lukas had any saliva left in his body, he’d love to make a mark on that damn swastika._

_“I’ve brought you some water.”_

_Head lifts a little more, a sudden burst of energy making the room spin. A Nazi guard steps forward, ladle of water in hand, and offers it to Lukas. He sucks it down eagerly, pride be damned. It’s too little and gone too fast, but he’ll be damned if he succumbs to begging for more._

_“Do you know why you’re in here?” Ludwig asks._

_“Because,” Lukas croaks, “you’re a coward.”_

_Ludwig laughs. “Nein, not at all. This is a precautionary measure, of sorts. We can’t have you rallying the resistance, now, can we? You are much better off in here, where we can kill you slowly instead of watching you die of a gunshot wound or a bomb. It is much more fun this way.”_

_Turns to leave, but hesitates and turns back. “Oh, and we’ll be bringing you a friend soon. Perhaps that will make your stay more enjoyable. I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed to see you again.” Flashes a smile._

_Lukas’ head drops back down, all the strength gone out of his limbs. Sags against the wall and tries to ignore the pain in his wrists. Thinks over that visit - tries to rationalize what Ludwig could want with him personally, why they would give him a friend in this hellhole. Only one thing stands out in his mind, though:_

_Ludwig’s eyes were black._

Mumbles incoherently, mind fading in and out of the dream. Almost doesn’t register the hands shaking him awake or the quiet huff of annoyance breathed in his ear. Manages to blink his eyes open - Mathias is carrying him into the room they share, eyes still drawn with despair.

Settles into the bed and curls his body around Mathias’. Has learned, over the years, the Mathias doesn’t like to sleep without Lukas to cling to - so he’s not surprised when the Dane’s arms slip around his waist and tug him closer with a frantic insistence. Just smiles to himself and makes himself comfortable in the warmth of Mathias’ arms. It feels like safety and home and love all wrapped up in one, and even if he would never say it out loud, he loves the quiet nights where Mathias lets his actions do the talking. Could spend forever in bed with him, going in and out of sleep.

And he intends to do just that, for as long as it takes to make Mathias feel better.

“Sleep, love,” he murmurs. Brushes his fingers through Mathias’ hair and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be right here when you wake up in the morning.”

Mathias’ arms tighten, almost to the point of pain, and then relax as sleep starts to overtake him. Lukas lays awake and watches over him until the moon is high in the sky and the night is silent.


	17. Soft Sighs and Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really bad at writing on a schedule.

Blurry eyes blink open slowly. Rubs his eyes, brain working sluggishly as he peers around the room. Feliciano’s curled across his chest, still asleep. Rubs a hand through the brunette hair - Feliciano makes a happy noise somewhere in his throat and nestles closer to Ludwig’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to move, but there’s a pile of paperwork a mile high in his office that he’s been putting off for hours. Can’t stay in bed when there are things to be done, meetings to be attended. Manages to disentangle himself from the little Italian and makes his way into the bathroom.

A cold shower goes a long way toward waking him up, but he’s still groggy when he sits down at his desk and pulls out the first packet of paperwork. Starts filling in all the information - but his hand moves slower and slower as the minutes pass. Vision blurs. Sets his pen down and lays his head on his arms - he’s just going to close his eyes for a few minutes, just long enough for his vision to clear -

He’s shaken awake by Feliciano, who’s all mussed hair and sleepy eyes.

“Come on, Luddy, back to bed. You need to sleep more.”

“Nein,” Ludwig mumbles around a yawn that nearly cracks his jaw. Rubs at watering eyes and tries to focus his vision. “Need to finish this paperwork.”

“No. Work can wait. You’re coming with me right now, Luddy, and you’re going to get some real sleep. You can’t keep going on like this!”

Tugs his hand away from Feliciano’s viselike grip and turns his back to the Italian. _Can’t_ sleep, not when he knows how much paperwork there is and how much he _still_ needs to do to help keep his boss’s plans up and running. War strategies, budget plans, factory outputs - so many figures and numbers, so many things that need to be calculated and kept up with. Just can’t imagine taking a break from all of that, even to make Feliciano happy, and God knows there’s a lot he would do to make Feliciano happy.

“Ludwig Beilschmidt!”

_That_ gets his attention. Feliciano _never_ uses his last name. Looks up, startled by the expression on the usually carefree Italian - Feliciano’s face is twisted into determined anger, arms crossed at his chest.

“You are _sleep deprived_. You need to go to bed, right now. I will drag you down the hall if I have to!”

“Feliciano,” Ludwig says. Needs to make him understand. “There’s - there’s so much work to do, I can’t sleep until I have it done. I can’t rest knowing there’s all this work that I’d be ignoring.”

“You can and you will.” Wraps both of his hands around one of Ludwig’s wrists and _tugs_ \- and Ludwig nearly falls out of his chair. Catches himself on the corner of his desk and regains his feet, equal parts startled and annoyed by Feliciano’s sudden display of strength.

“Where was that strength when I tried to train you?” he asks, volume rising. “You always whined and complained about things being too hard - but you were strong enough all along!”

Feliciano flinches. Drops his hand and turns away, face turning scarlet. “I only have that strength when it matters, Luddy.”

All the fight goes out of him. Deflates like a balloon, legs nearly giving out underneath him - but Feliciano’s there to catch him, just like always. Catches him and holds him and Ludwig just gives in to the overwhelming exhaustion that sits right at his core. Yawns, again, eyes watering as he leans against Feliciano and just _breathes_.

“That’s it, Luddy,” Feliciano whispers. “I’m right here.” Maneuvers them both over to the couch against the far wall and deposits Ludwig onto it. Sits down next to him, sliding his lap under Ludwig’s head as a makeshift pillow, and starts playing with Ludwig’s hair.

“Feliciano -”

“Shh, Luddy. Just relax, okay? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Curls up, arms tucked against his stomach, head resting on Feliciano’s lap, and just breathes through the exhaustion that pulls his eyelids down until they refuse to open again. Feliciano’s fingers move from his hair to his back, rubbing small circles into the tense muscles and forcing them to relax. Feels like being taken care of, and Ludwig’s eyes are a little too watery at that thought. Presses his face into Feliciano’s thigh and just breathes, exhaling tension.

“That’s it, Luddy, you’re doing fine. Just sleep, okay? It’s okay to take a break once in a while.”

Drifts off slowly, Feliciano’s voice hypnotically soothing to his sleep-deprived brain and body.

 

Heracles’ newest house is a ramshackle hut on the edge of his nation. Kiku stands in the door, eyes wide with dismay. It’s damp and dirty, and looks like it’s barely standing. Admits to himself, though, that it’s much better than finding Heracles sleeping in the ruins. At least here he has a bed and a roof over his head, even if the roof looks like it could cave in at any moment.

“It’s sturdier than it looks,” Heracles says from just inside the room. “Come in.”

Kiku steps over the threshold, wincing at the mud on the hut floor. “Are you quite sure that this is safe?”

“Of course.”

“Is it . . . structurally sound?”

Heracles sighs. “It’s meant to look that way. I’m hiding from the world.”

Frowns. “Is there a reason?”

“The war, of course.” A yawn. “Can’t get a decent night sleep with all of the split opinions on whether we should go to war and what side to take. All they do is talk. My head is filled with it at night. It’s quieter out here, away from the big cities.”

Thinks that’s the most he’s ever heard Heracles say in one go. Perches on the edge of a beaten-down chair and does his best to smile at his friend. “As long as you are okay out here, I am happy.”

“Thank you, Kiku.” Yawns again and leans back against the wall. “How are things in your nation? You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Things are well.” Fights back a smile as his thoughts turn to Alfred. Beautiful, sweet, wonderful Alfred, who’s turned his life around in so many ways. Wants to tell Heracles - but doesn’t want to impose, doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s bragging about his happiness while Heracles is going through a rough time.

“Kiku, stop thinking so loudly.”

Blushes. “Gomennasai, Heracles-kun. I do not wish to seem rude.”

“You, rude?” Heracles snorts. “What’s on your mind? There’s obviously something, so don’t bother telling me otherwise. You’re blushing, Kiku.”

Flushes deeper and lowers his eyes. “I have been seeing someone.”

That gets Heracles’ attention. “Oh? Is it another nation?” He leans forward in his chair, lethargic eyes fixed on Kiku’s face.

Nods. “I . . . it is Alfred.”

Heracles raises an eyebrow. “Hmm. No honorific. It must be serious, then, if he’s convinced you to drop your honorifics.”

Turns bright red. Didn’t realize - he’s so used to calling him Alfred in private that he didn’t realize -

“Relax, Kiku, you look like you’re about to have a stroke.”

Swallows and keeps his eyes lowered. “Hai, it is serious.”

“Good for you. I’m glad that you found someone who makes you happy. It’s obvious that you care about him a lot.” A soft smile. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a relationship. I’m too narcoleptic for most people, so I tend to stay on my own.”

Hesitates. “Forgive me for being forward, but . . . you should not let that stop you. You will perhaps be surprised by the people you will attract, even despite your situation.”

Heracles shakes his head. “I prefer the company of my cats to that of humans and most nations.” A cat jumps up onto his lap, emphasizing his words. “Cats are easy. They do not require much effort, and they do not mind if you sleep all day.”

“Sadik-san does not mind, either.”

Has to stop himself from clamping a hand over his mouth. He’s an idiot, an absolute _idiot_ \- and a rude one at that. It’s not his business, not in the slightest - why can’t he control his mouth today?

Heracles blinks. Once, twice - and then his eyes slide shut. “Sadik is an odd situation. There is much enmity there, and it will not go away quite so easily.”

“Gomennasai, that was very rude of me. I do not wish to pry into your personal life.”

“Kiku, relax. How many years have we been friends? You can lighten up a little around me, you know.”

“I do not wish to be rude.”

“You are _not_ rude. I would tell you if you were being rude. Now, go on - pry. What would you like to know?”

Can’t bring himself to look up. Stares at the flecks of mud on his shoes and addresses the floor.

“Heracles-kun, have you ever wondered if Sadik-san returned your feelings?”

A bark of a laugh. “He won’t go within two miles of meeting, unless there’s a meeting. It’s a safe assumption that he doesn’t like me.”

Stands up and bows. “I must leave now. I am sorry for the shortness of my visit, but I only wanted to stop in to check on you on my way to Berlin. My presence is required at a delegate meeting.”

Heracles stands and opens his arms for a hug. Kiku hesitates, but returns the hug. Turns to leave, thoughts whirling through his head. Bites his lip - and makes a decision that he’ll probably regret.

Stops in the doorway and turns back. “Heracles . . . you may be surprised to know that Sadik-san does not hate you. Perhaps you should give him another chance.”

He leaves, before Heracles has the chance to answer.

 

Eyes crack open. Groans into the pillow his face is pressed against and rolls onto his back. Sensitive skin rubs against rough sheets, sending little spikes of pain shooting through his body. Peers through the dim room - Gilbert’s reclining in his chair with Eliza asleep on his lap. Looks half asleep himself, staring off into space with a blank look on his face.

“What time is it?” he mumbles around a cough.

Gilbert’s eyes flicker over to Roderich. The relief in them makes him feel weaker than he already does.

“Six am,” Gilbert whispers. Nods at Eliza. “Been asleep for a few hours. You need anything?”

_You._  “No. Just tired of being in bed.” Sits up - he’s stiff, can’t tell how long he’s been in bed - and grimaces at the burn scars that cover every inch of visible skin. He’s mottled red and pink, new skin straining to break through his mutilated flesh.

“You look better than you did,” Gilbert stage-whispers. Eliza shifts in his lap, eyes blinking open.

“Roddy?”

“Lizzy.” Smiles at his ex-wife and pats the bed beside him. “Come sit, dear. Tell me what I’ve missed.”

Eliza leaps up and all but flies across the room, grinning, and perches on the edge of his bed. “You’ve been out for nearly a week. The healing process takes a lot out of you, so don’t be too upset at how much you missed.”

“A week?” he exclaims. _I missed a whole week of my life._

“Roddy, darling, do keep your voice down. The little Italian managed to wrangle a sleep-deprived Ludwig into bed for the next few days, and I would hate for you to wake him up.”

Blinks. “Exactly how much did I miss?”

“Well, let’s see.” Starts counting off on her hands. “Ludwig’s sleep deprived and nearly collapsed. Gilbert thinks himself a hero, and stayed by your bedside until I kicked him out to get a decent meal.” Dodges a half-hearted kick from Gilbert and continues. “Kiku came for a meeting, but since Ludwig’s out of commission until Feliciano gives the go-ahead he’s staying in the guest bedroom that was supposed to be Feliciano’s until the meeting is rescheduled. Your boss has done quite a bit in the way of damage control for Vienna, and reconstruction is well underway now. There’s a bit of anger in the streets, but most of your people’s energy is focused on rebuilding the city and making it even more opulent than before.” Winks. “How are you feeling?”

“Lightly toasted,” he mumbles. Gilbert’s staring at him, and it’s starting to make him nervous. _He stayed by my bed_ , he thinks, and feels a bit like he’s going to be sick. “Gilbert - can I have a word in private with Lizzy? It will only take a few moments.”

Gilbert’s expression doesn’t change. “Sure.” Gets up and walks out without a backwards glance. Slams the door behind him. Roderich can hear him thundering down the stairs, making too much noise like always.

“What’s his problem?” he asks, once he’s sure that Gilbert is out of hearing range.

Eliza shrugs. “He’s been quiet for the last few days. He probably didn’t appreciate me telling you that he refused to leave your bedside while you were hurt.” Chuckles softly. “He’s so oblivious sometimes.”

Refuses to think about the implications of Eliza’s words. “I have a favor to ask you, Lizzy.”

“Of course, dear. Ask away.”

“Could you send some of your troops to Vienna? I can feel some of my people’s anger at the Allied nations for going to war against us, and it’s very unsettling. There may be riots - and I would prefer that they are quelled quickly, because I do not want to cause any more animosity between nations.”

“Of course I will, Roddy. You know I’m always more than happy to help. I have to ask, though: why me?”

“Our people are still close,” Roderich explains. “We were once a mighty empire, and the Viennese people have not forgotten that. They will respond better to your troops than they will to anyone else’s, especially because it will not be an invasion. My commander will give you the details sometime tonight, I’m sure, after I call him.”

Eliza pats his hand and nods. “I’ll do whatever you need me to, of course. Is there anything else I can help with?”

“I am not sure yet. I am still so out of touch. I must call my boss later and see what areas we need help with. I know there’s a shortage of material for rebuilding, but I’m not sure what the architectures have in mind.”

“Well, how about this: I will go a cook you a lovely breakfast, courtesy of the angry Italian who went shopping yesterday and bought a few things I think you’ll enjoy. Meanwhile, if you think you’re well enough to stand, you can take a shower or bath - whichever will be better for your skin - and freshen yourself up a bit.”

Smiles and takes her hand, squeezing lightly. “Thank you, Lizzy. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“It’d certainly be a dull life, wouldn’t it?” Eliza laughs and stands up. “There are fresh towels in the bathroom. Oh, and your doctor sent over some things to help you heal faster. There all in the bathroom. If you need help with anything, _please_ don’t hesitate to ask.” Her eyebrows pinch together. “I want you to get better, dear, and you can’t do that if you try doing everything on your own.”

Waves away her concern. He’s appreciative, of course, but he’s tired of having to rely on other people to do things for him. “I’ll be fine, Lizzy. Don’t worry about me. I’m a bit more durable than I look.” Musters up a reassuring smile and kisses her cheek. “I’ll meet you downstairs in a little while. You’ll join me for breakfast, of course.”

“I’d be happy to.” She smiles, and gives his hair a gentle pat before leaving.

 

“Fratello, I don’t see what the rush is! Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” Lovino snaps, shoving clothes into a bag. “I’m tired of living with these damn Germans and their issues.” Pauses and runs a hand through his hair. Feliciano’s lower lip is trembling, which means he needs to calm down. He’ll be damned if he makes Feliciano cry over something as stupid as this.

“Fratello -”

“Look, I just need a few days away, okay? I won’t be gone long. Maybe just the weekend.” Knows he won’t be back that fast, but wants to make Feliciano feel better. “Antonio said he’d be okay with me crashing there for a few days. I just. . .” Grimaces and turns his head away. “I need a break from this war.”

Can almost feel Feliciano soften. Doesn’t risk turning around - because if Feliciano hugs him now, he knows damn well he won’t leave. Needs a chance to get away from all of this war and go somewhere he isn’t just another maid, there to cook and clean and stay quiet.

“Lovi, it’s alright. I understand.” Feliciano’s voice is soft. “Big Brother Spain will be happy to have the company, I’m sure. Make sure he’s eating good meals, okay? He didn’t look that well the last time we saw him.”

“I will.” He’s grateful for the conversation change, but the thought of being near Antonio for days makes his stomach twist. _I thought I was over that damn Spaniard_. Knows himself better than that, though. He’ll never be completely over Antonio’s forest green eyes and blinding smile. Tries to tell himself that it’s a sin - but that never stops him from thinking of Antonio late at night, when there’s no one but God to judge him for his actions.

“Call when you get there!” Feliciano’s gone back to his usual hyper self. “I want to say hi to Big Brother Spain!”

“Sure, Feli.” Hoists his bag onto his shoulder. Pauses at the door and glances back. “Hey, you make sure you’re taking care of yourself, too. Don’t end up like that idiot potato bastard.”

“Oh, Lovi,” Feliciano whispers.

Lovino’s nearly knocked to the floor as Feliciano collides with his stomach. Yelps and frantically grabs the doorknob, just barely saving himself from ending up on his ass.

“Veneziano!” he scolds, trying to hold still a wriggling Feliciano. His brother just giggles, though, and blinks up at him with too-happy eyes.

“Bye, Lovi!” Feliciano sings. “I’ll see you soon!” Then he’s gone, disappeared into potato bastard’s bedroom, and Lovino’s left staring after him in confusion.

 

Breakfast is a jovial affair. Lovino is gone - off to visit Antonio for the weekend - and Feliciano manages to wrangle Ludwig into leaving bed long enough to have a meal with Roderich and Eliza. There’s laughter and smiles all around, and Roderich can’t remember the last time he felt this content. Ludwig seems happier than Roderich has ever seen him, too, and that’s no small miracle. Eyes Feliciano with the tiniest bit of suspicion as the Italian slides more pancakes onto Ludwig’s plate.

“Nein, Feliciano, that’s enough,” Ludwig says, trying to wave the Italian away. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”

Feliciano giggles, bright and happy, and skips to the other side of the kitchen. “No! You need to eat more, Luddy, it’ll make you big and strong!”

Eliza nearly chokes on a piece of sausage. “Feli, I don’t think he needs any help in that department.”

“But he’s been tired! Food will help him heal faster!”

Laughs and starts cutting up his last pancake. Feels warm and happy, and a little bit sleepy. Muffles a yawn in the back of his hand and tries to ignore the pointed glare Eliza shoots him.

“Ludwig, can you pass the syrup?”

“Of course, Roderich.”

“So where is Gilbert this morning?” Eliza asks. She snags another piece of sausage off of Roderich’s plate and munches it.

“I think he went to the gym,” Ludwig says, looking thoughtful. “He hasn’t been in a very long time; I assume he wants to see if he’s still as strong as he thinks he is.”

Eliza snorts. “He wants to show off, is more likely. He knows human gyms aren’t a match for his kind of strength, even when he’s still weakened.”

Swallows his last piece of food and pushes his plate away. Dabs at his face with a napkin. Yawns, again, and turns to face Eliza.

“Lizzy, I think -”

Gilbert barges through the front door. He’s dripping sweat, hair falling in his face. Stomps across the living room, ignoring the four of them at the breakfast table, and heads up the stairs without so much as a word. Roderich can feel the tension creep into the room as Ludwig and Eliza exchange knowing glances. Feliciano’s quick to skip over to Ludwig’s side and whisper something in his ear.

“Come on, Roddy,” Eliza says, too loud in the sudden silence. “Let’s get you back up to bed. You must be tired after all that fattening Feliciano tried to do.”

“Hey!” Feliciano exclaims. “My food is not fattening!” Pouts, and Ludwig pats his hand reassuringly.

“Up you go.” Eliza’s there suddenly, hands hooking under his elbows to help him stand. Winces - he’s still stiff, brand-new skin still not used to being moved - but lets her tug him upstairs and back into bed. She sits in the chair next to the bed and picks up his composition notebook. Leafs through the pages, humming some of the tunes under her breath.

“Lizzy, why are you avoiding the subject of Gilbert?”

“Hmm? I’m not.” She looks up, expression carefully schooled to look innocent. It’s a trick Roderich knows well, and one that won’t work on him anymore.

“You were very quick to get me out of the kitchen. Is something wrong with Gilbert? He seems angry.”

“Oh, you know how he is.” Waves her hands in a vague motion. “He gets in these moods sometimes, and no one can reason with him when he’s like that. It’s best to leave him alone for now. Whatever it is that’s bothering him, I can guarantee that we’ll know about it eventually.” Smiles and leans over the bed to kiss Roderich’s forehead. “Now, you go back to sleep. I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

“That’s not necessary,” Roderich protests around a yawn. “I’ll be fine, Lizzy.”

“Sure you will be,” she agrees. “Doesn’t mean I’m not staying, though.”

Sighs. “At least come and be comfortable.” Pats the empty space beside him. “Might as well nap with me. You look like you could use it.”

“Is that an insult, Roddy darling?” Slips into bed beside him and smiles.

“Insult you? Never.” Smiles back and leans his head against her shoulder. Fits against her side easily, even after all their years apart. Yawns and burrows deeper into the blankets as Eliza’s humming soothes him to sleep.

 

Gets to Antonio’s house an hour early, only to find that Antonio isn’t even home. Curses his bad luck, kicks the door, and flops down on the front stairs to wait for the always-running-late Spaniard. Tries to psyche himself up for seeing Antonio, but he knows it’s pointless. He’s still going to be just as dumbstruck as always, looking like an idiot while he fishes for more dumb things to say. His Spanish is still barely passable, though he’s been trying to learn just to see how happy it would make Antonio, and he’s got nothing to offer the beautiful man. Not that he’d consider a homosexual relationship in the first place.

Antonio pulls in forty-five minutes later and rushes out of his car when he sees Lovino.

“Lovi!” he exclaims, face lighting up into a radiant smile. “I wasn’t expecting you so early! Have you been waiting long?”

_Yes_. “No, I just got here,” Lovino snaps. Tries to ignore the fact that Antonio is carrying a _lot_ of tomatoes in a dumb-looking green basket. Green is definitely _not_ his favorite color (yes it is), and it is definitely _not_ his favorite color because it’s the color of Antonio’s eyes (yes it is). Crosses his arms and tries to do anything but stare at Antonio.

“Well, don’t just stand there!” Antonio’s beaming at him, and some of Lovino’s irritation melts away. “Come inside, come inside! I tidied up a bit, I hope it looks alright. Oh! I made pasta! I remembered the sauce recipe you gave me years ago and I tried it out, but I’m not sure how it tastes. You’ll have to tell me if it’s Italian enough for you.” Antonio winks, and Lovino’s heart thuds a little faster in his chest.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he manages to say without sounding too stupid. Follows the gushing Spaniard into the house and tries not to stare around in amazement. It hasn’t changed very much since his last visit - everything’s still in its same tidy spot, and it’s all bright and cheerful like Antonio. Checks the fridge on a whim - there’s a bit more food than Lovino had expected, but it’s still not enough for one grown man to live off of, let alone two.

“Let me help out with groceries,” he says.

Antonio’s eyes widen. “Lovi, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“And you didn’t. I’m offering.”

“It’s not -”

“Antonio.” Frowns. “I’m not _offering_. I’m giving. Honestly, you can’t afford to say no right now. You’re down to the bare bones. Let me help.”

Antonio looks away and doesn’t meet Lovino’s eyes. “I’ll be fine on my own, Lovi. I promise.”

Sighs, but doesn’t try to push it. Antonio’s ridiculously stubborn when he thinks he’s doing the right thing, and Lovi doesn’t feel like starting his visit off with an argument. Crosses to the large table and sits down in a chair, arms still crossed. “Well? Where’s my pasta?”

“Oh! Coming!” Antonio’s face lights up in another dazzling smile. He sets the tomatoes down and starts bustling around the kitchen, pulling out plates and silverware. Lovino just sits there and watches him. From behind, he can see the damage the Spanish economy is doing to Antonio’s body. His oversized t-shirt does nothing to hide the bones that jut out unnaturally in his shoulders and collarbone. His pants look at least a size too big, and even with a belt on they’re slipping down his waist. He has to stop every few seconds and pull them up.

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, no!” Antonio’s carefully setting out what’s practically a feast - pasta, garlic bread, and paella. He’s dashing back and forth at a somewhat alarming speed, and it’s not hard to see that it’s taking its toll on him. “You’re a guest, Lovi, just sit!”

Waits for Antonio to sit down before he starts to eat. It’s good, really good, and he eats more than he probably should. They’re quite for most of the meal, both lost in the good food and their own thoughts. Just as Antonio’s finishing the last of his paella, Lovino manages to break the silence.

“How long have you been like this?” he asks.

Antonio flinches. “Like what?”

Gestures around them. “You look _exhausted_ , Antonio, and you can’t tell me that you’re eating enough because you’re not. How do you expect to look after a country if you can’t even take care of yourself?”

“I can’t die.” Antonio’s voice is soft. “I can’t die, Lovi, and they can. If I can help feed a family, then I’ll go without food for as long as I need.”

Something warm blooms in his stomach, and he fights back the urge to hug Antonio. “You stupid self-sacrificing bastard,” he mutters, but it lacks its usual bite. Antonio musters a smile.

“I want my people to live good lives. It’s the least I can do.”

“Are you sleeping well, at least?”

A shrug. “It is harder to sleep while hungry, but I’m dealing with it. How are you doing?”

Knows what Antonio’s trying to ask. Looks away and bites his lip. Doesn’t want to answer - hasn’t even told Feliciano, yet, and how can he tell Antonio if he hasn’t even told his own brother?

“I’m fine,” he says, hating himself for lying.

Antonio raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? I heard about Vienna.”

_Shit_. Hates Antonio for knowing him so well. Does his best to not look guilty. “What about it?”

“I was worried about you. I know how you feel about things like that. How is Roderich doing?”

“He’s getting better.” Still can’t look at Antonio. Stares at his empty plate and clenches his fists under the table. Has the urge to run - anywhere would be better than sitting at the table, feeling Antonio’s too-knowing eyes staring at him.

“Lovi.” Antonio reaches across the small table and puts a hand on Lovino’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go sit in the living room and watch movies until we fall asleep. Just like we used to when you were little, si?”

Blinks back a wave of tears and nods. Can’t look at Antonio still, can’t let him see how much he’s affected by the kindness. Can’t remember the last time anyone beside Feliciano showed him this much kindness. Certainly not the bastard Germans he has the misfortune to be living with now.

Convinces Antonio to make popcorn first, though. It’s not a proper movie night without popcorn, after all.

When the smell of popping popcorn is finally too much for his stomach to bear in peace, he yanks the bag out of the microwave and pours it into a bowl. Balances the bowl and two sodas as he joins the Spaniard in the living room. Falls onto the couch next to Antonio, a barrier of space between them. Plays with the cross hanging around his neck and tries not to focus on the warmth he can feel coming from Antonio’s tanned skin. Munches on popcorn and sips his soda and does his best to keep his eyes from falling closed, but of course it’s a hopeless idea. Tries to focus on the movie - something about a magical tournament - but feels his eyes drifting shut a few minutes in. It’s been so long since he’s slept through the night without nightmares waking him up every few hours. Maybe he can just rest his eyes for a few moments . . .

Shakes his head to keep his eyes open and tries to refocus on the movie. _Don’t fall asleep_ , he chants in his head. But it’s no use. The quiet drone of the TV and sound of Antonio’s soft, steady breathing lulls his eyes back closed. Head dropping, body relaxing into the couch, Lovino falls asleep with a soft sigh and Antonio’s name on his lips.


	18. Just Another Sleepless Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've discovered that I'm super bad at updating on a regular schedule. Here's 5,000 words to make up for that!
> 
> I know I'm really bad at updating, so to those of you still reading: THANK YOU. You guys that have stuck through this for the last year are awesome, and you all deserve some kind of award.
> 
> In other news: it is NaNoWriMo! Dulce is once again my NaNo project (yes, I'm a NaNo rebel), so you should expect fairly regular updates from here on out, at least until the end of the month. I'm aiming for 100k in NaNo this year, so you should be looking out for lots and lots and lots of updates this month. I'd like to finish the first book of Dulce Et Decorum Est by the end of the year - and that's a lot of writing!

_“You’re useless to me.”_

_He shrinks away from the voice, scrambling for something to say, anything that could possibly prove the bastard wrong. Words don’t come; they scatter in his mind, until all he’s left with is a barely coherent stutter that’s futile anyways, because the bastard just keeps yelling._

_“I never should have made an alliance with you!”_

_Feliciano’s crying at his sound, loud, broken sobs that rip through the night and make Lovino see red. How_ dare _that bastard treat his little brother like that, Lovino will show him –_

_“You’re a pathetic excuse for a person, let alone a nation.”_

_“L-Luddy,” Feliciano gasps through heart-wrenching sobs._

_“Shut up!” Ludwig roars. He slams his fist down on the table and glares at him with a hatred so much like Hitler’s that something in Lovino’s chest goes tight. Fear numbs him until he can’t move, can’t even think about moving. “It’s your fault that we’re losing this war! I don’t care what you have to say anymore. You’re pathetic and weak. Gott, you can’t even defeat Ethiopia!” Ludwig takes a breath, fists clenching and unclenching at his side. “And now you go to war’ with Greece? Verdammt!” He slams his fist again, and Lovino flinches back._

_“I’m sorry.” Feliciano’s voice is so soft that at first Lovino thinks he imagined the words. Peeks at his little brother out of the corner of his eyes – Feliciano’s a mess, eyes red and puffy, lower lip trembling. Can barely keep himself together, from the look of it._

_Something in Lovino snaps._

_He jumps up, face twisted into rage, and advances toward Ludwig._

_“Shut the fuck up!” he snarls. “Like you’re such a perfect ally? What about that invasion of Russia, eh? Weren’t you ever going to share your strategies with us?”_

_Lovino’s on his ass before he even registers Ludwig’s movement. His face stings, the imprint of Ludwig’s hand clearly defined in the lines of pain across his cheek. He sags against the legs of his chair, all the fight gone out of him with that one blow. It’s suddenly, painfully obvious that he means nothing to Ludwig, to anyone and everyone._

_“I am tired of having to bail you out of your incessant failures.” Ludwig’s voice is deceptively emotionless. “You no longer serve a purpose.”_

_“We can be good, Luddy!” Feliciano cries. “I promise, we can do better! Just give us a chance!”_

_“Nein!” Ludwig yells. Lovino cowers back. “I don’t want you here anymore. Go back to Italy.”_

_Feliciano breaks._

“Lovi, wake up.”

_He’s fucking useless – can’t do anything but watch, too scared of Ludwig to move, as Feliciano collapses in on himself, sobbing and clutching at his stomach like he’s going to throw up. Thinks, fuck it, and reaches for his brother – but one look from Ludwig sends him flinching back again. Afraid, he’s always afraid, and he’s so tired of it. So tired of feeling helpless, useless, unwanted. Thinks back to the days of living with Austria, of feeling so fucking unwanted that he was desperate for some sort of attention, even if it was bad. Tries to remember the good times with Antonio –_

“Lovi, come on, wake up!”

Blinks his eyes open slowly. Antonio’s face hovers over his, so full of concern and worry that it makes his heart ache. Pushes the Spaniard away with a frown and sits up, trying to calm the rapid beat of his heart.

‘“Are you okay?” Antonio’s eyebrows knit together.

“I’m fine, quite fucking coddling me,” Lovino snaps. Feels bad almost instantly – Antonio’s expression turns guilty, like he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Relents and shrugs one of his shoulders. “I’m fine, really, don’t worry about it.”

“You were having a nightmare.”

He snorts. “Way to fucking state the obvious.”

Antonio frowns at him, and for some stupidly ridiculous reason it makes him feel guilty. He looks away, hoping that Antonio will just let him go back to sleep and forget that this whole thing even happened, but of course that’s not going to happen. Even without looking, he can tell that Antonio is still staring at him with too-wide eyes.

“What are you staring at?” he tries to snap, but it comes out as more of a rasp. Tears prickle in the corners of his eyes and he wipes them away, scowling at nothing.

“Why are you so sad?”

Antonio’s voice is so soft and so serious – two things he rarely is – and it tears at Lovino’s heart. He glances up and meets Antonio’s eyes – and nearly gets swept up in the depth of emotion in them. This time he can’t stop the tears from spilling over and rolling down his cheeks. Antonio doesn’t say anything; he just pulls Lovino into his arms and hugs him while Lovino cries and cries. He whispers soft words in Spanish and plays with the ends of Lovino’s hair and hugs him tighter when his breath catches in his throat and just waits, waits until the tears finally subside and Lovino can stand to look him in the eyes. And still, he looks just as gentle and caring as he did before, and it’s almost enough to send Lovino back into tears.

“Why are you so sad?” he asks again, a small breath of air that hangs between them.

“They don’t want me,” Lovino whispers. “They don’t care about me.”

“I care about you,” Antonio says, and Lovino is lost, truly and utterly lost for this man. _It’s a sin_ repeats in the back of his mind like a hellish litany, but Lovino can hardly hear it over the thudding of his heart. Something shifts in Antonio’s eyes – and Lovino pulls back fast, as fast as he can, and nearly stumbles in his haste to get off the couch.

“Forget it, it’s not important, I don’t want to talk about it,” he says.

He flees the room before Antonio has a chance to speak.

 

Six hours pass, and Gilbert still can’t calm down. There’s an itch under his skin, one that makes him restless and unsettled. He’s surprised that no one has come barging in, demanding to know what the fuck his problem is, but he’s also glad, because he really doesn’t know what the fuck his problem is. Roderich is fine, he should be happy, but his thoughts have taken on a dark edge that he should probably be worried about. Feels like his thoughts have weight, like they’re pressing down until his head is throbbing with pain. Happy thoughts float out of reach, lost in a fog of self-doubt and anger. He paces back and forth across his room, footsteps a steady drumbeat, hands clenched into fists so tight that his knuckles seem permanently white.

The door opens and Eliza walks in. Gilbert’s pacing doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow. Doesn’t even turn to look at her. Just waits for her inevitable snark and typical sarcasm.

“Gilbert.”

_Oh, Gott_ – her voice is soft and sympathetic, and that’s even worse than her being sarcastic. Can’t bring himself to look at her. Manages to stop pacing – but the sudden stillness is worse, makes his muscles clench and shake.

“What’s wrong?”

Anger rears its ugly head. “None of your fucking business.”

Silence. The anger dissipates like it never existed. He slumps against the wall, suddenly empty and hollow. Closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and does his best to ignore the ever-present ache in his heart.

Eliza’s fingers lace with his, and he flinches at the unexpected touch. But then he clings to her hands, desperate for something to keep him from drowning in his own thoughts.

“Gilbert,” she whispers, “I hate seeing you like this.”

Snorts. “It’s not much fun on my end, either.”

“Is there anything I can do? Any way to help you?”

Shakes his head. “There really isn’t much to do. Just have to wait it out and hope it goes away.”

Eliza frowns and clutches his hands a little tighter. “It shouldn’t have to be like that. Aren’t there – aren’t there medicines you can take to help this?”

He yanks his hands away and crosses his arms. “ _Nein_. I’m not going on fucking pills for this. You can’t make me.”

“I’m not trying to make you do anything, Gilbert.” Her voice is soft again, and Gilbert just wants her to go away, to leave him alone to his weighted thoughts.

“Pills are for weaklings. I can handle this on mein own.”

“Gilbert. Asking for help does not make you weak. It takes more strength to admit that you need than it does to keep hiding it.”

“Nein, shut up, you’re not convincing me of anything.” He motions to the door. “You can get the fuck out.”

Hurt flashes in Eliza’s eyes, and Gilbert feels the tiniest hint of regret. But the itch boiling under his skin is begging to be scratched, and he’ll be damned if he lets Eliza see him cave into it the way he wants to. She stomps out of the room, obvious in her displeasure, and slams the door behind her in what Gilbert has come to know as typical Eliza fashion. The moment she’s gone he surges toward the bathroom. He’s halfway there when he realizes, _Verdammt_ , that his stash is probably gone, confiscated by Ludwig years ago so that Gilbert didn’t do anything stupid. He sinks to the floor, back pressed against the wall, and rests his head on his knees. The itch burns hotter, coursing through his veins like molten lava. He needs to do something, _anything_ – just needs to get rid of the itch, make it stop hurting for a few hours.

He starts going through the cabinets, desperate for something to help him. Finds a packet of sleeping pills he hadn’t known was in there. He takes three, chases them down with water, and collapses into his bed with a groan. Doesn’t remember the last time he got a decent night of sleep. Insomnia’s a bitch – or, at least, it had made Gilbert its bitch for longer than he can remember.

Tries to remember his old techniques. Focuses on his breathing, and relaxing his muscles one by one. Muffles a yawn with his hand and settles into the blankets, ready for the welcome blackness of sleep.

It doesn’t come.

The sleeping pills weigh him down, make his body feel heavy with oncoming sleep, but his eyes refuse to close and his brain refuses to turn off, even for a few hours. He lays there, staring at the ceiling with tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, until he’s too tired to sleep and too tired to be awake. Gets up and wanders into the kitchen – at two in the morning, he’s sure no one will be in there – and makes himself some coffee.

Three cups later, he’s regretting his decision to get out of bed. The sleeping pills are still weighing him down, still making him feel like he could fall over and sleep at any moment – but the coffee’s made him jittery, restless, too keyed up to even think about sleeping. He paces back and forth in the kitchen, hands shaking at his sides, trying not to panic. Spends about twenty minutes pacing – twenty minutes of jittering and shaking and silent panicking – before he gives up and leans against the counter, struggling to get his breathing back under control. Braces his hands on the countertop and leans forward to press his damp forehead against the cool glass of the window. His breathing is ragged, heartbeat pounding like a siren in his chest.

A hand on his shoulder nearly makes him jump out of his skin. He staggers backwards, hands rising automatically, until his lidded eyes take in the outline of his brother standing in front of him. Ludwig’s got that little crease between his eyebrows that means he’s worrying about Gilbert, and Gilbert feels it like a knife to the heart. Didn’t mean to be so fucking _obvious_ about his problems.

“Y-You should be sleeping,” he stammers.

“I could hear you pacing.” Ludwig’s voice is soft, just like Eliza’s was earlier, and Gilbert hates himself for doing this to the people he cares about. For making them worry about him, for forcing his issues onto them, for a whole number of things that Gilbert can’t think about without breaking down.

Ludwig puts his hand back on Gilbert’s shoulder and squeezes it in a gesture that probably should be comforting, but just feels like added weight for him to deal with. He shudders and steps back, edging away from Ludwig as his hands start twitching again.

“Follow me.” Ludwig doesn’t wait for a response before walking away, not even turning back to check if Gilbert is following. Of course Gilbert follows him, hands shaking worse and worse as the minutes drag on. He follows Ludwig into living room. Stops and tilts his head when Ludwig takes a seat on the couch and just _stares_ at him in a way that makes Gilbert feel horribly small.

“What are you –”

“Come here,” Ludwig says, and pats the space beside him.

Gilbert sits, and the bundle of nerves jumbling together in the pit of his stomach starts climbing into his throat, making him feel damn near claustrophobic. He gasps for breath, pale and shaky hands clutching at the frayed edge of his shirt as Ludwig just sits there beside him, not touching him, just _there_. And it helps, it really does, especially once Ludwig stops _looking_ at him. Feels his breathing even out, little by little, until he can relax his hands and drop his shoulders back down to where they’re supposed to be.

“I wish there was something I could do,” Ludwig murmurs. “I’m sorry, bruder.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Gilbert shrugs and leans just a little bit against Ludwig’s shoulder. “I’ve dealt with it for decades. It’s not that big of a deal anymore.”

Ludwig makes an unimpressed noise. “Of course it’s a big deal, Gilbert. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Ludwig’s hands clench and unclench on his knees. “Are there – there are medicines, Gilbert, that you could take –”

“No,” Gilbert snaps. Ludwig flinches. “I’m not taking a fucking pill to deal with something that isn’t even a sickness. This is just me being stupid, as usual.”

Ludwig’s expression goes all soft around the edges. “Bruder,” he whispers, “you don’t have to deal with this on your own. What’s bothering you?”

Gilbert wants to tell him. God, he wants to tell Ludwig so badly, if only just to get the crushing weight off of his chest. But he _can’t_ – he’ll feel stupid, pathetic, weak, all of the things he normally keeps buried.

“Whatever it is, it’s okay,” Ludwig says. “It’s going to be okay.”

And that – Gilbert has nothing to say to that, nothing he could possibly say to that. Feels like the worst brother in the world for putting Ludwig through all of this _shit_ , and – and the least he could do is confide in his brother for once, no matter the cost to his pride.

“Roderich,” he manages to get out, before he has to clear his throat. “He – He trusted Eliza, over me, for something, and – and it’s stupid, it’s so stupid, but I thought I was getting somewhere with him. I thought we were – I don’t know, closer, or something, and I just – I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Ludwig doesn’t tell him he’s stupid. Doesn’t tell him he’s overreacting, doesn’t say any of the harsh things that Gilbert’s brain is screaming at him. Just turns and pulls Gilbert into one of the bone-crushing hugs he remembers from when they were younger, when Gilbert was the one comforting Ludwig, and – and it helps, it really does, and Gilbert can’t stop the few tears that leak out of the corners of his eyes. His arms come up to wind around Ludwig’s waist, and he just sits there and hugs his brother for so long that he loses track of the time. When Ludwig eventually pulls back, face soft and worried and caring, Gilbert finally feels like something in his chest has loosened. The three sleeping pills hit him all at once; a wave of exhaustion nearly pulls him under as he sways against Ludwig’s shoulder, eyes drooping closed.

“Hey, hey.” Ludwig helps him sit back up. “Gott, Gilbert, you look exhausted. You need to sleep. Come on, I’ll help you up to your room.”

“Couch ‘s fine,” he mumbles around a yawn that nearly cracks his jaw.

“Nein, your back will hurt in the morning. Come on, up you go.”

Stumbles as he stands, and leans on Ludwig for support. Must have fallen asleep – because when he opens his eyes, Ludwig is tucking blankets around his shoulders. Closes his eyes again and nestles into the blankets, suddenly warm and comfortable and so tired.

“Gute Nacht, Bruder,” Ludwig whispers.

“Night,” Gilbert mumbles against his pillow.

 

 His foot taps out an irregular pattern under the table, and he curses under his breath. _That bloody American_ , he thinks, _can’t take anything seriously_. His fingers start taping, and even an impatient look from Matthew can’t convince him to quiet down.

“Angleterre,” Francis says, “your excessive tapping is giving me a headache.”

“Hell if I care.”

“Papa, please. I’m sure Alfred has a very good reason for being late.”

Snorts. “I’m sure. Remember the last meeting he was late for? He claimed to have been distracted by a passing UFO.”

Francis rolls his eyes, but his expression softens into an affectionate smile. “Ah, Amérique. At least he is always entertaining.”

“Entertaining is not the word I’d use to describe him,” Arthur mutters, but he stops tapping and crosses his arms, eyes staring blankly at the doorway. He’s still tired; three hours of sleep isn’t enough for him to run on, no matter how much coffee he consumes. He’s nursing his third cup now, feeling the rush of energy flooding through his veins. His foot starts tapping again, faster than before, and his hands tremble around his cup of coffee.

“Angleterre,” Francis murmurs, “that’s enough coffee.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Arthur snaps half-heartedly. Francis reaches over, leaning far closer than necessary, and closes a hand around Arthur’s.

“Arthur, please. Alfred will be able to tell that something is wrong.”

Arthur exhales and releases his death-grip on the cup. Francis takes it and slides it across the table toward Matthew, who takes a sip and grimaces.

“It’s black,” he says.

Francis frowns. Arthur looks away - he knows that look, knows that Francis knows what black coffee means, and can’t bear to meet Francis’ eyes. Thank God for distractions - Alfred barges through the door at that moment, sparing Arthur from having to explain himself to Francis.

“Guys! I’m so totally sorry, I didn’t mean to be so late, but I slept right through my alarm clock! I had a late night last night and I just wicked overslept!”

Arthur takes in his disheveled appearance and raises an eyebrow. Exchanges a glance with Matthew, who rolls his eyes and cross his arms.

“What exactly were you doing last night, Al?” Matthew asks.

“Paperwork!” Alfred exclaims a little too quickly.

Francis snorts. “Tell us the truth, Amérique. We will find out eventually, you know.”

Alfred’s blue eyes get comically wide, and he shakes his head. “No, really, I swear! I was doing a crap ton of paperwork last night that I’ve been putting off because Tony keeps bugging me to play video games with him! I’m not lying!”

Matthew’s eyes narrow just a little bit, but he doesn’t say anything. Arthur sighs; he knows from experience that Alfred will never be persuaded to tell them something if he’s not ready to. Motions toward the chair left open for Alfred and frowns at him.

“Now that you’re _finally_ here,” he sneers, “let us convene the meeting. Francis, would you like to begin?”

“Non, Angleterre, I will let you begin.”

Arthur ignores Francis’ flirty smile and turns toward Alfred. “Alright, then. The short version of what we called you here for is this: we want you to join the war.”

Alfred’s smile disappears in the blink of an eye. “What?”

“Hear us out, lad. Think back to the first two wars. The end of the fighting was expedited by your entrance to the war in both cases. Aside from Russia, you are one of the best-equipped nations in the world to go to war. You have the most resources, an enormous population, and a well-trained army. We believe that having you as an ally would substantially increase our chances of winning this war and bringing it to a conclusion within a reasonable time period.” He pauses for a moment and takes a deep breath. “No one wants to see it drag on for four or five years again, Alfred. We’re desperate right now for any help we can get.”

“Angleterre,” Francis says softly.

Arthur ignores him. Just stares at Alfred, silently pleading for him to see the reason in the request. He’s got his fingers crossed under the table, some old superstitious part of him holding on to any form of luck that he can find.

Alfred bites his lip. “I don’t know. My government doesn’t really feel like I should be taking sides in this. It doesn’t really have anything to do with my country.”

Arthur lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Alright. Fine, yeah, that’s fine. Whatever. We’ll muddle along, I suppose.” He stands up so fast that his chair tilts and falls over. The thud reverberates through the room, breaking the tense silence into pieces. Francis half-rises, but Arthur waves him away and rushes out of the room.

He makes it back to his hotel room before the tears come. Stumbles as he crosses the doorway, and nearly falls to the ground. Makes it to his bed before he collapses, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes. Hadn’t realized how much he was counting on Alfred’s help to win the war. Doesn’t think that he can win this war, no matter how much help from Francis and Matthew he gets, and at this point – at this point, he’s not even sure he _wants_ to win the war. He’s tired of always trying to win, of being the nation that interferes in everyone else’s affairs, tired of being the one that everyone hates and blames for all the bad things in the world. Knows he’s made mistakes – so many mistakes, really, that it’s a wonder he’s even lasted this long.

Thoughts swirl around in his mind like an endless vortex, making things seem darker and darker. Struggles to hold his head above the water, to breathe, to make it _stop_ – but he’s not strong enough, still not fucking strong enough even after all this time, and he succumbs, drifting down into the welcome darkness.0

 

Sapphire eyes watch Arthur’s retreating figure and – for once – Matthew notices that they’re not trained on Arthur’s behind. Sighs a little, and clears his throat. Francis jumps, then looks up, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Désolé, boys,” he murmurs. “Angleterre has not been well these past few weeks.”

Matthew elbows Alfred in the ribs.

“Ow! Jeez, Mattie, what was that for?”

“Say something to him, you oaf,” Matthew hisses.

Thankfully, Alfred gets the hint. He takes a step toward Francis, expression hesitant. “Hey, dude, I’m sorry about that. My hands are kind of tied, as far as wars go. I mean, even my president can’t declare war without the support of Congress, and there’s no way Congress will agree to get involved in a war that we don’t have a stake in.” He barks a laugh, low and bitter, and a shadow of the past crosses his expression. “They learned their lesson the hard way, after what happened with Vietnam.” He shudders, almost imperceptibly, and crosses his arms across his chest. Matthew puts a hand on his shoulder, but Alfred shrugs it off.

“It is fine, Alfred,” Francis says. He stands up and adjusts his jacket. “I really ought to see where Angleterre has gone. I am sorry to have wasted your time, Amérique.”

Alfred waves away the apology. “Nah, don’t be. Something like this had to be in an official setting, anyways, or else our bosses would get suspicious that we’re in cahoots or something.”

“Go take care of Papa,” Matthew interrupts smoothly, before Alfred has the chance to say something stupid, like cahoots, again. “We’ll be okay here.”

The look Francis shoots him is nothing short of grateful. He’s racing out the door before Alfred can start complaining about being interrupted. The door swings shut behind him, and Matthew sighs again. _So much for family bonding time_. He turns to Alfred and opens his mouth to say something – but Alfred’s staring at his phone, a bit pink in the cheeks, and Matthew just _knows_ he’s not going to be able to spend time with his brother this time around. He’s just about resigned himself to that fact when Alfred springs up, phone buzzing in his hand, and races out of the conference room without even a backwards glance at Matthew.

_Forgotten once again_. He’s not sure why he isn’t used to that by now, not sure why it still hurts as much as it does. Packs up his things slowly. Struggles with his laptop charger for a minute – it’s tangled around the leg of his chair – and leaves the room with a dejected sigh. Alfred’s nowhere to be seen – probably off talking to his new boyfriend, the one he _still_ hasn’t told Matthew about – but Matthew’s not an idiot, he knows his brother fairly well and he’s seen all these signs before. He’s never more forgotten than when Alfred has a new boyfriend, someone who isn’t Mattie to take up all of his time.

_I should be used to this by now_ , but he’s not, and he probably never will be. Feels the sting of rejection as strongly as he did the first time he was forgotten, so long ago that it almost feels like a memory now. Wraps his arms around his stomach and hunches over as he makes his way through the bland corridors and out into the blustery London summer. Hails a taxi and directs it toward St. Pancras. Wonders, idly, if the others will even notice that he’s gone, as the London scenery flies past him.

He knows they won’t notice, though.

 

“Hey, baby.”

Alfred’s voice is low, seductive, and Kiku can almost hear him smiling. Flushes red almost instantly, glad for the privacy of his room.

“Konnichiwa, Alfred,” Kiku murmurs. “How was your conference? I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

“Nah, man, Iggy bailed the second I told him I wouldn’t help with his dumb war. He’s probably off _shagging_ Francis or something.”

“Alfred,” Kiku chastises, “you should not say such things about your family. It is quite rude.”

“Relax, Kiku, babe, I’m just kidding. Those two wouldn’t touch each other with a fifty-foot pole.”

Kiku’s not entirely sure what to say to that – and it has absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that Alfred just called him _babe_ , absolutely nothing at all. Stutters, for a moment – can hear Alfred laughing, and flushes a darker red. What he wouldn’t give to be wrapped up in Alfred’s arms, tucked under the covers in one of their beds, with the world ceasing to exist around them.

“When will I see you again?” he whispers into the phone.

“Soon.” Alfred’s voice goes all low and soft, and it sends a flutter of nerves through Kiku’s stomach. Cheeks heat up more, and he wonders just how hot his face is going to get during this conversation.

“How soon? I miss you.”

“I miss you, too, love.” Alfred sighs. “I’m in London right now. Flying here to there would be kind of difficult. Can I pull you away for a weekend? My flight leaves in an hour – if you got on a plane now, we could meet in D.C., and spend the weekend together.”

“I have meetings all this weekend,” Kiku says mournfully. “Things are – less than normal, here, because of everything that is going on in Europe right now.”

“Oh, right.” Alfred sobers, all the laughter gone from his voice. “Right, yeah, that’s – right. Um, sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“Alfred,” Kiku interrupts, “breathe. It is okay.”

Alfred gives a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay. I just – I don’t want to get involved in the another war, not like that. Not after everything that’s happened in the last couple of decades.”

“Come to Tokyo,” Kiku blurts. “I will be in meetings during the weekend, but we can spend the nights together. And – and your diplomat is schedule for this coming week, hai? You – you should come in her place. Is that possible?”

“Kiku.” Alfred’s laughing now. “Miss me that much?”

“Hai,” Kiku whispers.

“I miss you, too. I’ll see what I can do, okay? I can’t make any promises right now, but I’ll do my best to get to you this weekend.”

“Hai.”

“I have to go catch my flight, but I’ll call you when I get in, okay?”

“Okay,” Kiku breathes. Can see, in his mind, Alfred’s expression right now – can just _picture_ the softness and affection in Alfred’s eyes, the sweetness in the way he holds Kiku – has to stop himself before he gets caught up in his daydream, because he has work to attend to, but – but he wants so badly to be with Alfred that it’s almost a physical ache. “I will see you soon, love.”

Alfred sucks in a breath, and goes quiet – which, really, is a miracle in itself, because Kiku’s not sure that anyone has ever rendered Alfred speechless. Thinks – and then realizes what he said, and flushes the darkest red yet. Panics and wants to take it back almost immediately, but he knows, he _knows_ that it’s true, and it’s almost worth the nerves fluttering in his stomach for the way he can hear Alfred stammering on the other end of the phone. Smiles a bit to himself, suddenly pleased. And – he should be nervous, should be terrified, because he’s just admitted something _huge_ to Alfred – but he’s not, because he knows it’s true, and because he knows that Alfred feels the same way.

“I love you,” Alfred whispers, voice so soft and full of emotion that it’s a wonder Kiku’s heart doesn’t beat right out of his chest.

“I love you,” he murmurs back “We will be together soon.”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence, of neither of them wanting to hang up, but eventually time pushes Alfred to hang up the phone, and Kiku has to run to get ready for a meeting. But he carries the weight of Alfred’s love through the rest of the day, just next to his heart, and decides that – yes, he likes the feeling of being in love.


	19. Mi Tomate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a short chapter. NaNo didn't really work out this month. My laptop kind of shut down, so I've been spending all my time trying to fit library visits into my already packed schedule, so that I can actually type my homework and stuff. I've already started the next chapter, and I'll probably post it either later tonight or sometime tomorrow.

Francis finds Arthur face down in a pillow, passed out. Sits beside him, rubbing a hand up and down his back, and waits for him to come to. Struggles with his breathing – too many emotions swirl around in his head, making it hard to think through the dark thoughts. Wants this God–forsaken war to be _over with_ , so that maybe, _finally_ , he and Arthur can have some peace. Knows it’s not going to happen, though – Ludwig is too stubborn, too close to his brother, too willing to go through hell to save Gilbert from dying – and Francis should have seen this coming, really, because he’s known Gilbert for _centuries_ , has seen firsthand how Gilbert draws people to him like moths to a flame. Gilbert’s always been a leader, someone that people are willing to fight for and die for.

Arthur shifts, a little, rolling over onto his side and curling in on himself, face open and peaceful for once. Francis stares at him – wants to touch, is afraid to touch, _needs_ to touch – reaches out and pulls his hand back. He needs to keep his boundaries, needs to protest Arthur from getting hurt. Francis has never been good with relationships, never able to keep one lover for long, and he’s so desperately afraid that Arthur will be the exception to that rule, so desperately afraid that Arthur _won’t_ be the exception to that rule.

Settles for putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and squeezing lightly, leaning forward just a tiny bit.

“Angleterre,” he whispers, “wake up.”

Arthur’s eyelids flutter for a moment, and then close. Francis sighs; doesn’t want to wake Arthur, but wants to take him home. Thinks – then decides that, really, one night in a hotel won’t kill them, even with the current state of the economy. Kicks his shoes and socks off, strips down to his boxers and a cotton t–shirt, and curls up under the covers next to Arthur’s warmth. Sighs, softly, and closes his eyes.

A hand finds his under the blankets and holds it tightly. Francis curls his fingers around Arthur’s and squeezes back.

Arthur’s breathing starts speeding up, almost imperceptibly, but Francis has learned the signs over the years. Curls in close, tucking Arthur’s head against his chest, and murmurs to him until his breathing evens back out and his muscles go limp and pliant in his arms. Closes his eyes and just relaxes back against the pillow, holding the only man he’s ever loved until the sun goes down and the world fades to black.

 

_Ludwig’s hand is still small enough to wrap comfortably around one of Gilbert’s fingers. He smiles, all sweet and indulgent, at his little brother, who’s staring up at him with a wicked pout and half–formed tears._

_“No, no, it’s time for bed, Germany,” Gilbert says softly._

_“Nein!” Ludwig pouts. He lets go of Gilbert’s finger and crosses his arms across his chest, lower lip wobbling dramatically. “I don’t want to go to bed. I want to stay up with you!”_

_“You can’t. You have to go to sleep.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because I said so.” He lets a bit of sternness creep into his voice – he doesn’t want to be mean to his baby brother, but the kid has to learn some discipline if he’s ever going to succeed in the army. He’s already growing fast – another few years and he’ll be a teenager, almost ready to defend his own nation. “You can stay up as late as you want when you’re older, but I get to be the boss of you until then.”_

_Ludwig pouts at him, but then nods. “Fine. You win.” He uncrosses his arms and wraps a hand around one of Gilbert’s fingers again. “Will you tuck me in?”_

_“Of course, baby bruder.” Gilbert smiles at him. Pulls the blankets up and tucks them around Ludwig’s shoulders, one–handed, so unwilling to have Ludwig pull away. Ruffles his hair once, then smiles at him and carefully tugs his finger away. “Gute Nacht, Deutschland.”_

_“Night Big Brother,” Ludwig sighs, already half asleep_.

Gilbert comes to slowly. Rubs the sleep out of his eyes and pushes himself half up. Can still see little Ludwig before he knew what war meant – and wants, so desperately, to go back to that. Wishes he could go back and undo all of his mistakes of the past. He could make things right, could be a better person, a better man – could maybe, just maybe, win Roderich over before all of his failed unions, before all the arranged marriages took their toll on him and his belief in love. Could finally be the person he’s wanted to be for so long that it’s turned into a dull ache, barely an echo of what it was a century ago.

Pushes himself up the rest of the way and swings his legs over the edge of his bed. Isn’t sure what time it is – the clock on the wall is too blurred for him to make it out – but stands up anyways, intent on at least getting something to eat.

A yawn nearly cracks his jaw as he makes his way downstairs. Nearly stumbles twice – his balance is off, though he’s not surprised with how many sleeping pills he’d taken last night – but eventually manages to make it into the kitchen. Ludwig’s sitting at the table in the middle, of course. Looks up when Gilbert walks in and smiles.

“Ah, bruder. How did you sleep?”

“Fine for once,” Gilbert mutters. “Those pills really knocked me out.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“A lot better,” he admits. “I was – I was kind of a mess last night, and I’m sorry.”

“Gilbert.” Ludwig’s frowning now, that little crease between his eyes more prominent than ever. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad that I was there to help you, and I’m glad you got some sleep last night. You looked like you really needed it.”

“Yeah, I did.” He scratches the back of his head and shifts a little. Muffles a yawn in the back of his hand before continuing. “I just – I don’t really know what came over me. One minute I was fine, and the next –” He makes a vague gesture, unsure of what the right words are to finish his sentence.

“It’s alright. I understand.”

He knows Ludwig doesn’t, but he can at least appreciate the effort his brother is making to be there for Gilbert. Gott knows that he’s almost never let Ludwig take that opportunity before – either runs off and deals with it himself, in whatever way possible, or – more recently – he goes to Roderich for comfort. Feels a stab of regret, suddenly, for keeping his brother at an arm’s length away for so long.

His expression must do something stupid, because Ludwig’s suddenly in front of him, frowning even harder than before.

“Bruder, hey, what’s wrong?” Ludwig asks. Puts his hands on Gilbert’s shoulders and just stands there, looking all caring and concerned.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert mutters, before he has to look away. “I don’t – I’m sorry for keeping you out. I–It’s not fair to you, not after everything you’ve risked for me, and I’m just – I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know how to deal with this kind of stuff and I just – I didn’t want to bring you down or make you worry about me any more than you already do.”

“Gilbert.” Ludwig’s frown turns into a half–smile. “You’re my brother. I’m going to worry about you anyways. I’m just glad that you have someone you feel like you can trust to talk to about this when it happens, even if it’s not me.”

Another stab of guilt. “I – I just, I don’t mean to keep _you_ out, I –”

“Gilbert, shh, it’s fine.” Ludwig squeezes his shoulders. “It doesn’t _have_ to be me. Please don’t misunderstand – I would love it if you would come to me when you have bad nights, but you don’t have to. I want you to go to the person who is going to be the best at making you feel better. If that person is Roderich, then I will always be thankful to him for helping mein bruder.”

Peeks up at Ludwig for a moment – and then immediately looks away, before his brother can see the tears in his eyes. Sniffles a little, and pulls away from Ludwig.

“Is there any food?” he asks, and hopes that Ludwig doesn’t comment on the waver in his voice.

“Of course. Feliciano made pancakes again.”

Can hear the smile in Ludwig’s voice, even without looking. Busies himself getting a stack of pancakes and smothering them in maple syrup.

“I miss Birdie,” he says suddenly, almost unaware of even thinking the words. Thinks back to the afternoons spent lounging in Matthew’s house, wrapped up in blankets against the Canadian cold, eating maple syrup and bashing each other over video games.

Ludwig looks up. “Birdie?”

Gilbert waves a hand. “You know, Matthew.”

“Who?”

Sighs. “Canada, Ludwig. Canada.”

“Ah.” Ludwig nods, but it’s obvious that he has no idea who Gilbert is talking about. Gilbert decides not to push the issue – is used to how forgettable Birdie is to other people, and even to himself, sometimes. Opens his mouth – he’s not quite sure what, exactly, he’s going to say – just as Roderich makes an appearance. Walks into the kitchen and pauses, just for a moment, just long enough to tell Gilbert that he’s nervous to be there, before helping himself to the still enormous pile of pancakes on the counter.

“Good morning,” Roderich says softly. “How are you this morning?”

“Fine,” Gilbert mutters. Turns his head away – there are too many things he wants to say to Roderich, too many things he _can’t_ say to Roderich – and looks at Ludwig instead. “Oi, West. What are you and your boyfriend up to this morning?”

Ludwig sputters and nearly spits out his coffee. Swallows, and glares at Gilbert over the frame of his glasses.

“Feliciano is not mein _boyfriend_ , Gilbert, and I’d thank you to remember that.”

Gilbert snorts. “Could’ve fooled me. Actually, you could’ve fooled the rest of the world.”

“Gilbert!” A flush starts creeping up Ludwig’s neck. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, considering your own situation.”

“What, forever single?” He hazards a glance at Roderich – thank Gott, the Austrian seems too preoccupied with being as prissy as possible with his food to notice their conversation – and shoots Ludwig a warning glance. “I don’t need a boyfriend; I need a good shag. Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve gotten laid?”

“Don’t be crass at the breakfast table,” Roderich interjects without looking up.

“Shove off, Specs. You wouldn’t know a good time even if it invaded your vital reasons. How dusty is it down there, anyways?”

Now it’s Roderich’s turn to flush red. Gilbert’s teeth sink down into his bottom lip – Roderich’s fiercely beautiful like that, pale skin flushed red, a sharp contrast to his dark hair and startlingly dark eyes. He follows the curve of Roderich’s lips with his eyes as the Austrian stumbles over his words, warmth pooling in his gut. Doesn’t hear a damn thing that Roderich says. Can’t stop staring – _Gott_ , Roderich is beautiful. Gilbert’s always known this, but it hits him like a truck now, and he can’t tear his eyes away.

“Gilbert?” Roderich’s eyebrows pull together, and his lips turn down at the corners. “Are you okay?”

Manages to snap himself out of his reverie. Shakes his head, a little, to clear his thoughts, and glances at Ludwig’s smug expression out of the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles hastily, before Roderich can say anything else. “I’m – I think I’m just tired still.”

Concern sparks in Roderich’s eyes, and the heat in Gilbert’s stomach spikes up.

“Do you need anything? Any help?” Roderich asks, face full of soft concern.

Gilbert’s shaking his head before Roderich can even finish what he’s saying. “Nein, nein,” he mutters. Doesn’t trust himself to be around Roderich right now, not with this _thing_ in his stomach that’s making him too warm all over. “I’m fine, I’m just going to go back to bed.”

Ludwig’s looking at him with too much knowledge in his eyes, and Gilbert ignores it. Walks out of the kitchen with as much dignity as he can muster – and then bolts for his bedroom as soon as he’s out of sight. Slams the door shut behind him and barely makes it to his bed before he’s got a hand around himself, jerking furiously. Roderich’s face, flushed and stuttering and beautiful, swims across his vision as he comes, harder than he has in a long time. He sags down on his bed, exhaustion settling over him like a blanket, and drifts off to the sound of Roderich playing piano down the hallway.

 

His head is _throbbing_ by the time he makes it back to his house.

Barely makes it through the door – his vision had gone blurry as he was staggering up the steps. The exhaustion’s gone down to his bones, he can feel it every time he moves. Isn’t sure how he manages to shrug his coat off and kick his boots off – but then Katyusha’s there, helping him out of his too–bulky clothes, and folding everything neatly for him. Gratitude bursts like fireworks in his chest but he stays silent – the phrase _thank you_ has lodged itself painfully in his throat – as Katyusha helps him up the stairs to his bedroom.

“Long weekend?” she asks. Her accent is hardly noticeable in how quiet her voice is. She pushes him down onto his bed and tucks the covers up around his shoulders, just like she used to do when they were younger, when Katyusha was the big sister who looked out for him and protected him. Her fingers wind into the edges of his scarf, just resting there, and it should feel like a violation – he should _hate_ it, _loathe_ it – but it doesn’t, _he_ doesn’t. Feels like he’s eight years old against, tucked in between Katyusha and Natalia – back before Natalia’s obsession with him became weird, before it tainted their relationship. Feels like being protected, instead of being the protector.

“You should sleep more,” she murmurs. “You need to take better care of yourself, брат. How do you expect to take care of the rest of us if you are this exhausted?”

“Hush, сестра,” he mutters, voice too weak for his liking. “I will protect you just fine.”

“Vanya.” She smoothes back his hair with one gentle hand. “You work too hard.”

Leans into her hand, just a little bit, and hates himself for it. He needs to be stronger than this, needs to be able to protect his family – but he’s just so tired, exhausted right down to his bones, and it feels good to just give in for once, to rest and let his sister take care of him.

“Would you like me to bring you anything? Food, a drink?”

Shakes his head – and immediately regrets the decision. Pain spikes through his head and he grimaces, curling in on himself. Then Katyusha’s there, running her hands through his hair and massaging her fingers along his scalp, easing the pain. He relaxes, muscles unclenching, and his eyes flutter closed.

“You never relax anymore,” Katyusha murmurs in too–soft Russian. “You need to take better care of yourself, Vanya. I know you want to be strong for us, but Natalia and I can take care of ourselves just fine. You do not always have to be our protector.”

“I am supposed to protect you,” he mutters, voice growing weaker with sleep. He can feel it rising up, like a wave about to crash against the shore, and he struggles against it, determined to stay awake for Katyusha. “I am your brother, and my country is strong. I will always protect you, сестра, no matter what happens in the rest of the world.”

Katyusha laughs softly. “Thank you, Vanya. Now, go to sleep. You need to rest more.”

“No,” he tries to say, but then Katyusha’s humming, an old song from their childhood that she used to sing to him at bedtime, and the wave of sleep crashes over his mind and drags him under.

 

Lovino's throwing his things back into his bag when Antonio appears in the doorway. Nearly jumps out of his skin, hands tightening in the shirt he was folding – when the _fuck_ did Antonio get so sneaky? – and desperately tries to ignore the way his heartbeat picks up. Turns back around and starts shoving clothing and his sketchbooks into his bag harder than is strictly necessary.

Then, suddenly, Antonio's behind him, pressed chest to back – and Lovino's heart nearly stops. Antonio’s hands fold over his own, on either side of his body, and suddenly he _can’t breathe_ – Antonio’s close, too close, and Lovino can’t breathe.

“Breathe, Lovi,” Antonio murmurs against his neck, and Lovino tries to pretend that the shivers running down his spine are from disgust. “You need to relax.”

His teeth worry his bottom lip as he lets his hands go limp in Antonio’s grasp. The sketchbook is carefully pulled away – and he has a brief moment’s panic when he thinks, _please don’t open it_ – before Antonio sets it on the bed and steps back just far enough to turn Lovino around.

Chest-to-chest isn’t any better. Antonio’s eyes are the warmest green he’s ever seen, like Italian fields in spring. Looks down – _can’t_ meet his eyes, just can’t. Fists his hands in Antonio’s shirt – isn’t sure whether he’s trying to push him away or pull him closer, at this point, because really, it could be either – and just tries to breathe through the panic pulsing through his body. _It’s a sin_ wars with _come closer_ until he’s almost dizzy with it.

Then, suddenly, Antonio’s arms are around his waist, tugging Lovino in against his chest until there’s _no space_ between them, and it’s not nearly close enough for Lovino.

“What are you afraid of?” Antonio murmurs.

A sob rips through his throat and he’s just so _tired_ of crying all the time, of feeling like he needs someone to protect him, but Antonio’s arms are warm and safe and for once, _just once_ , he wants to give in and let himself feel all of the things that he’s never let himself feel before. Pushes himself up on his tiptoes and unclenches his fists from Antonio’s shirt – throws his arms around Antonio’s neck, instead – and just lets himself be held for once in his life, and it’s the best feeling in the world. Antonio’s hands are rubbing up and down his back, easing away some of his long-held tension, some of the worries that tumble around in his brain until he feels like he’s going insane. His breathing comes back, slow and steady, and he’s relaxing into Antonio’s arms before he even makes a conscious decision to.

Lovino’s not really sure how long they stand there for, before the world starts creeping back in. Before reality starts seeping in through the cracks in his brain, reminding him that he’s in the arms of a _man_ and enjoying every second of it. He’s so desperately tired of feeling like this, like everything he does and says is an abomination, but it’s all he’s ever known and he’s not sure how to _stop_ feeling like that.

“You’re worrying again,” Antonio whispers, right next to his ear. “Stop that. Just let me hug you, okay? Everything’s going to be okay.”

He’s so desperate at this point to be close to Antonio, so he listens. He listens, and he lets himself relax back into Antonio’s embrace, until Antonio is the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Come on, then,” Antonio murmurs. He’s smiling – Lovino can hear it in his voice, in the way Antonio sounds pretty damn pleased with himself. “Let’s get you vertical.” Pulls back just enough to run his hands up and down the length of Lovino’s arms, and smile at him with that damn brighter-than-the-sun smile that Lovino’s never learned to resist. He takes Lovino’s arms and half leads him, half carries him into his bedroom. Lovino has a brief moment of panic before Antonio’s hands brush through his hair, and then he’s too busy trying to stay on his feet to worry. Exhaustion crashes down over him like waves on a beach, and he sways back into Antonio’s hold.

“Careful, Lovi.” Antonio pushes him, ever so gently, down onto the bed. It’s a sign of how exhausted Lovino is that he doesn’t start panicking, even when Antonio strips off his shoes and belt.

“There. Better?”

Manages to hum softly in agreement before his eyes flutter closed. Feels Antonio flop down on the bed beside him, with no regard to personal space as he curls up against Lovino’s side, smiling against Lovino’s shoulder.

“You’ll be safe here, mi tomate,” Antonio murmurs. “I will not let the bad thoughts get you.”

“Gracias,” Lovino whispers into Antonio’s hair, just before sleep claims him.


	20. Drunken Harry Potter Monopoly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in a very rare move, this chapter only contains two pairings' POV. But, it's sappy as fuck.

Alfred F. Jones (the ‘F’ stands for FREEDOM), human personification of the United States of America and general all-around badass, is proud to say that he is not a man of many fears. In fact, he’s had many people tell him that he would quite possibly _benefit_ from a healthy dose of fear once in a while. He’s faced down war, hunger, pain, loss, God-damn _aliens_ , and Mutually Assured Destruction without even batting an eye.

Flying, though.

Flying fucking _terrifies_ him.

Despite his self-proclaimed invincibility, two of the biggest defeats his nation has ever seen were both caused by _airplanes_ , and the thought of death by plane has inserted itself into the back of his mind like the harshest of litanies, paralyzing him with fear like even Ivan’s darkest of Soviet days hadn’t been able to do.

Pearl Harbor had been one thing. That had been _war_ , and while he may not have been involved, he’d have been a fool to think that he’d be able to escape its ugly realities for long. He’d taken to the skies not long after, determined to reclaim some sense of national and personal pride, and quite possibly just to prove that he _could_.

September 11th, though, was very, very different.

It had broken his sense of safety, fractured it so completely that he _still_ didn’t trust his airports to fully protect them from the threat of would-be terrorist copycat acts. At least Pearl Harbor had happened with Japanese planes – the destruction wasn’t _really_ his fault, it was all on the Japanese (which is ironic, considering where he’s on his way to), and he’d left it with a clear conscience, knowing that he’d at least tried to do the best to protect his people, even if he ended up failing in the end.

September 11th, though, was absolutely nothing like that. It had come crashing down out of nowhere, sending his entire nation into a frenzied, discombobulated panic and making so many people question whether or not they were safe in the United States. It had nearly broken his heart to feel all of that sadness and despair, day after day – never mind the _physical_ marks of the attack, the two burned-in parallel scars on either side of his heart. The Twin Towers had been _the_ symbol of his nation, almost as much as the White House was a symbol of his government, and he’d been so damn proud of them. But it had been _his_ planes that brought them down – _his_ planes that caused so much damaged and changed so many lives. He hadn’t been prepared enough, safe enough, competent enough – the list went on and on, really, and even thinking about it was still enough to make him terrified, sometimes.

So, yes, flying terrifies him.

It’s a secret he’s held close to his heart for _years_ – he’s never trusted any of his advisors or officials enough to let them see him when he was terrified, because how do you recover from seeing your nation reduced to a bundle of frayed nerves and tears? It’s why he always, _always_ chooses to fly like a civilian – because even if no one else does, he can still remember that miraculous spark of bravery of the passengers of Flight 93, and he likes to think that braving planes as a civilian is a homage to their memory, of saying _I still remember you, you are not forgotten_.

And that’s how he ends up on a non-stop redeye flight out of D.C., traveling in a near deserted first class section of a too-damn-expensive plane, on his way to see his boyfriend.

He’s seated in the back, well hidden from the other passengers, leaving him free to clench and unclench his fists and focus on his breathing. Sparks of terror flit around his body – his heartbeat is too damn fast, and his breathing is far too shallow for his liking, but he’s pretty confident that he’s managing it better than he ever has before. And he knows himself well enough to guess that it probably has something to do with the beautiful Japanese man waiting to greet him at the airport.

After a few hours of catnaps and window-watching, he’s calm enough to start getting anxious. He and Kiku haven’t _talked_ since their little admissions – only a few texts back and forth to coordinate Alfred’s arrival time – and Alfred’s starting to get nervous that maybe Kiku’s going to change his mind, or pretend that it didn’t happen. Which is stupid, because in all the years that Alfred has known him, Kiku has never been anything but a man of his word. So, really, the nerves are just Alfred being stupid.

Still, he’s nervous. He’s never been in love before, and it’s a strange feeling. He wants to curl up in bed with Kiku and stay there for a month – and he wants to run far, far away, before he can get hurt.

By the time his plane lands in Tokyo, fourteen hours later, he’s nearly gone crazy with worry and boredom, because really, fourteen hours is too long for _anyone_ to sit still, and he’s really got to rethink the whole nonstop flight thing, because that was a terrible idea. His hands shake as he gets off the plane and makes his way through the airport’s custom (thank _God_ for Nation Travel Privileges, or customs would be a _bitch_ ). Stands outside the airport and hails a taxi and gives them Kiku’s address on a slip of paper, because Japanese is not a language he thinks he’s capable of learning. The drive is short, thankfully, but every minute that brings him closer to Kiku is another minute of nervous worry.

He throws some money in the cab driver’s direction and bolts out of the car. Has to go back for his suitcase, smiling sheepishly, when he realizes that he left it in the trunk in his hurry to get to Kiku. The cab driver just smiles in a way that’s _way_ too knowing, and gives him a wink before getting back in the car and driving off, leaving Alfred standing there with his nerves and anxiety and worry. He makes it as far as the front door before he gives into the panic and just sits there, on top of his suitcase, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and wondering if Kiku feels just as panicked as he does.

“Going to stay out here all afternoon?”

He _refuses_ to admit that he jumps (but he does). And he _definitely, absolutely does not_ let out this high-pitched frightened squeak (but he definitely does).

“Kiku!” he half yells, caught somewhere between exasperated and relieved. “How are you so quiet?”

“I am a ninja,” Kiku says softly, expression torn between confusion and amusement. “How long have you been sitting here?”

“Not long,” Alfred bluffs, though he really has no idea. “I wasn’t sure if you were back from your meeting or whatever yet.”

“It concluded about half an hour ago. I rushed back here, hoping to catch you as you were pulling in, but it seems you beat me to it.” Kiku’s smiling wider, and Alfred swears his heart skips a beat. He launches himself off of his suitcase and into Kiku’s arms, grinning like crazy.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I am glad you are here,” Kiku whispers back. “It was a long fourteen hours.”

Alfred snorts. “You’re telling me.” Then he remembers his suitcase, and his surprise for Kiku. “Oh! Babe! Hey, hey! I have a surprise for you!”

Kiku raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, wait, why do you look worried?”

The Japanese man shoots a wary glance at Alfred’s suitcase. “Well, I suppose it cannot be that bad” Kiku reasons aloud. “After all, you made it through customs without being detained.”

Alfred shoots Kiku his best pout. “Hey! That was only one time! And I didn’t _know_ that Tony hid away in my suitcase, so it’s not like it’s _my_ fault.”

“Alfred, love, why don’t you come inside. The neighbors are beginning to stare at the wild American man on my front lawn.”

“Hey! I’m not wild!” He follows Kiku inside, though, and tries not to show how excited he is that Kiku called him _love_ again. “Besides, my surprise isn’t something that I brought you!”

“Oh?” Kiku raises one perfect eyebrow. Damn, Alfred wishes he could do that, but his attempts usually just makes him look constipated.

“You’re going to love this.” He knocks over his suitcase and kicks the locks open, somehow breaking them in the process. “Oh, damn, Iggy is going to kill me for that.”

“Alfred, what is it?”

He points to the amount of clothes in his suitcase. “I get to stay! For a whole three weeks!” And then his nerves catch up to him, and his face turns an obnoxious shade of red. “I mean – I mean, if you want me to, of course, I didn’t mean to – to intrude, or anything, I just – I thought, you know –”

“Oh, Alfred,” Kiku whispers, and shuts him up with a kiss.

_Kissing Kiku has got to be one of the Seven Wonders of the World_ , Alfred thinks. Kiku’s small frame fits perfectly in Alfred’s arms, the two of them molded together like they’ll never be parted. His lips are soft, softer than anything Alfred’s ever felt, and he’s kissed a _lot_ of people, more than he cares to admit. But Kiku’s lips are like a work of art – soft in all the right places, but unyielding, making Alfred fight for every burst of pleasure that rakes across his skin like fire in his veins. He gasps, opening his mouth, and then their tongues are twisting together, sending heat waves straight to Alfred’s gut.

“Kiku,” he moans, surrendering to the feelings.

Kiku pulls back and presses his forehead to Alfred’s, eyes closed. _He’s beautiful_ , Alfred thinks, not for the first time.

“Bedroom,” Kiku whispers against Alfred’s lips.

“Are you sure?” Not that Alfred’s complaining – but he wants this to be perfect, wants this to be what _Kiku_ wants, because he’s never felt like this about _anyone_ before, and he’d sooner die than mess it up.

“Yes,” Kiku breathes. “I was – I thought about it, while I waited for you to arrive.”

And – Alfred has pretty much nothing to say to that. Kiku’s looking at him with wide eyes, probably waiting for Alfred to say no, but Alfred can barely process Kiku’s words – coming up with a response is pretty much impossible. So he settles for pressing his lips to Kiku’s again, softer than before, trying to convey all of the words that his brain is pretty much incapable of speaking at the moment. It seems to work – Kiku relaxes in his arms and kisses him back, smiling against his lips.

“Later tonight,” Alfred murmurs when they break apart. “I want to do this the right way, and I can’t do that if I’m going to fall on my face with exhaustion.”

Kiku looks a little disappointed, but he smiles shyly and nods. “Hai. We will sleep first, and then you can romance me however you like.”

“I like the sound of that.” Alfred smiles and presses a gentle kiss to Kiku’s forever. “Come on. Your bed is huge, and my back is _killing_ me after that fourteen hour flight. I swear, they need to invent time travel or apparition or something. Like, why don’t I have a TARDIS yet? I’m the leader of the whole damn free world!”

“Alfred, it does not exist.”

He slams his hands over his ears. “No! Don’t say that! The TARDIS totally exists, and she’ll totally not like you for not believing in her, just like when the Doctor tried to teach Clara how to fly her!”

“You are speaking nonsense, Alfred.”

“I’ll get you into _Doctor Who_ eventually, babe.” He winks, and Kiku’s cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink. “Now, what was that about bed? I’d kill for a nap right now.”

“Follow me. I, ah, redid the master bedroom, in preparation for your visit.”

“Oh, yeah?” He grins. “Is it a sex paradise now?”

“Alfred!” Kiku’s cheeks are _bright_ red, now, and it’s probably the cutest thing Alfred’s ever seen. He can’t help himself from pulling Kiku into another hug, even if it means delaying them from getting in bed. Rubs his hands up and down Kiku’s spine and laughs softly against Kiku’s ear. Feels Kiku shiver, and grins wider.

“Relax, love,” he murmurs. “I swear, I’ll be the perfect gentleman in bed.”

“I know,” Kiku whispers. “That is why I am saying yes. I trust you, Alfred.”

He’s suddenly glad that Kiku can’t see his face, because now _he’s_ the one blushing. Hugs him a little tighter, and then lets go – but takes his hand, and skims his lips across Kiku’s knuckles. He feels kind of silly doing it, like he’s a real old-time gentleman, but it’s worth it for the way Kiku gasps and flushes a darker shade of red.

“Come on,” Alfred whispers. “Your bed is waiting for us.”

“H-Hai,” Kiku stammers. He pushes the door open and steps back. Alfred peeks over his shoulder. Kiku’s old, barely-slept-in twin bed has been traded out for an _enormous_ king-sized mattress, perfectly sized for an afternoon of cuddling and a night of – well, if Alfred thinks about that _now_ , he’ll never get to sleep. So he tugs Kiku over to the bed and strips both of them down to their boxers. Kiku’s got this shy look on his face, like he’s ready to run away and hide, so Alfred does his best to be reassuring. Gets them both in the bed and wraps his arms around Kiku, and just holds him, murmuring to him how beautiful he is and how much Alfred loves him. Because if there’s one thing Alfred knows, it’s that he _never_ wants Kiku to regret trusting him, especially because he’s waited so long for this to happen. He’ll spend forever making this perfect, as long as it means he has Kiku by his side.

Doesn’t mean to fall asleep – but he must, because the next time he blinks, Kiku’s fast asleep in his arms. Takes a moment to study his sleeping face, tracing the soft edges with his eyes and fingertips. Warmth blossoms in his chest until he’s nearly giddy with it. Closes his eyes and presses his face into Kiku’s hair – and he could do this all day, just stay in bed and hold Kiku and be there. It’s amazing, it’s beautiful, and it’s scary – but he’s Alfred F. Jones, the human personification of the United States of America, and he’s not going to let himself be afraid of being in love _._

 

Gilbert’s startled awake by a knock at his door. He yanks his boxers back on, hastily, and doesn’t bother to even brush a hand through his hair before he opens the door. Regrets it almost immediately – Roderich’s standing there in full, prissy uniform, and he’s even got his dumbass cravat on. He looks like walking perfection, and Gilbert looks like exactly what he is – a mess.

“Sup, Specs?” He goes for nonchalance, in the hope that Roderich won’t see through the cracks in his mask. “Why’d you interrupt my beauty sleep?”

Roderich turns his nose up – just the slightest hint, but Gilbert notices.

“It is eight at night,” he says stiffly. “You have spent nearly the entire day sleeping, which is quite enough time, from what I can gather. Wouldn’t you rather do something else, with the rest of the household?”

Gilbert snorts. “Like what?”

Roderich’s frown is more telling than Gilbert thinks Roderich understands. It’s immediately obvious that Roderich’s been roped into _another_ of Eliza’s endeavors, and that the crazy woman is now making Gilbert join in whatever escapade they’re planning.

“Drunken Harry Potter Monopoly.”

Gilbert blinks. Then blinks again. Then blinks a third time, because that is not a phrase that he _ever_ expected to come out of Roderich’s mouth. It takes him a full thirty seconds to start laughing – because the fact that Roderich looks so unhappy about it makes it that much more unbelievable, almost enough to render him speechless. Almost.

“Damn, Specs, you look miserable,” he chokes out between bouts of laughter. “What kind of a bet did you lose?”

“I did not lose a _bet_ ,” Roderich replies hotly. “What makes you think that?”

Snorts again. “You, drinking? Some kind of a bet was involved.”

“If you really _must_ know, Ludwig and I were outvoted.”

“By who? With the other Italian gone, you only have Feli and Eliza to argue against, and surely mein bruder can take care of the Italian.”

“We have guests. You missed their arrival, due to your need for beauty sleep.”

“Guests? Who the fuck would want to visit us?”

“Language, Gilbert. Please, you are a civilized human being – act like one. I know you are capable of it.”

“Where’s the fun in that? Besides, you didn’t answer my question. Who’s visiting us?”

“Helpers.” Roderich’s frown deepens, almost imperceptibly. “They were – well, uninvited, but I do not think that they will be persuaded to back down from this fight. While the two lack the, ah, _personal_ determination of your allies, they certainly have sympathy for the ideological plight of your war.”

“Who. Is. It.”

“Tino and Berwald.”

He’s not surprised, really. Tino – well, the kid may be too damn happy, sometimes, but he’s never stopped being grateful for Ludwig and Gilbert’s aid during the Winter War. Probably feels like he owes them a debt of some sort, and while Gilbert’s usually quick to cash in on that sort of thing, he really wishes people would stop going to war for him. Germany, Italy, Austria, Hungary – four nations were more than enough, more than he wanted, but – of all the potential allies in the world, he’s kind of glad that it’s Tino and Berwald. For all his issues, Tino is a sharp kid, and Berwald would go to the ends of the Earth to protect him – so at least he doesn’t have to worry about keeping them safe.

“Oh. Well, then what are we waiting for? Jeez, Roderich, it’s not polite to keep guests waiting. I thought we were civilized human beings.”

His fake-prissiness is totally worth it for the way Roderich sputters with annoyance.

“Sometimes I wonder how we came to be friends,” Roderich mutters.

“You can’t resist mein awesomeness,” Gilbert shoots back, even though the off-hand comment hits him like a knee to the stomach. It’s hard to breathe for a minute, with the way his old esteems issues flare up. Roderich doesn’t notice – or, if he does, he doesn’t say anything – and Gilbert can’t decide whether he’s grateful or annoyed at that. Tries to brush it off and puffs out his chest in the way that he knows annoys Roderich, just to be an ass, and shoves in front of him to go down the stairs, so that Roderich can’t actually see his expression. Schools it into casual nonchalance, just in time for the others in the living room to notice him.

“Gilbert!” Eliza barrels into him with the force of a bulldozer, and he has to scramble to keep his balance.

“Jesus, woman!” he exclaims. “Give a man a warning before you try to kill him!”

“Never,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Come to join the fun, I presume?”

“Hell yeah. When have I ever passed up drunk _anything_?”

“That’s what I was counting on!” She skips back across the living room to where they’ve got the board and the alcohol already set up. Ludwig and Feliciano are sitting together on one of the loveseats and Gilbert just _has_ to smirk at the irony of that. Eliza’s claimed his favorite comfy chair – but he’s willing to let that slide, at least until she gets drunk enough that he can trash talk her without risking loss of limbs. Tino and Berwald are smushed together on the floor across from Ludwig and Feli, and really, this table isn’t big enough for all of them. But Gilbert takes his place at the head of the table, smushing himself closer to Ludwig so that Roderich has no choice but to take the only available spot next to him. Eliza winks at him from across the table and he purposely ignores it, reaching across the table to shake both Tino’s and Berwald’s hands.

“Glad to have you both for the shitstorm that’s about to happen,” he exclaims. “It’s going to be a real mess tonight, if Eliza’s smirk means anything – and trust me, it does. You do _not_ want to be on the receiving end of that smirk when she’s got a plot cooking.”

Eliza giggles. Tino’s eyes are bright and happy, a far cry from the last time Gilbert saw him decades ago. Shoves the image away, so he doesn’t ruin the night, and smiles back at his Finnish friend. Berwald is as hard to read as always, but that stopped being a surprise centuries ago.

Gott, _centuries_ ago. Sometimes it’s easy for him to forget how long he’s lived and how much he’s seen – and other times it just _hits_ him when he’s least expecting it, like now. He’s frozen, stuck in position – can’t seem to catch his breath, or slow his heartbeat, or _anything_ , and that’s pretty much never a good sign, at least where he’s concerned. Where anyone is concerned, probably.

“Bruder. Hey, Gilbert, breath.”

Ludwig’s hand touches his shoulder, and Gilbert flinches away from it. The movement jars him – and suddenly he can suck in a breath, desperate for air in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. Gulps it down and tries to avoid the six pairs of worried eyes that stare at him.

“I’m fine,” he wheezes. “Quite your staring, it’s creeping me out. Just get me a drink and let’s get on with this damn game already.”

“Gilbert,” Roderich whispers, but Gilbert ignores him. He motions for Eliza to pass him a drink and downs it in one gulp. The alcohol hits his veins like liquid ice and helps to clear away the last bits of panic from his mind.

“What are the rules?” he asks.

Eliza lights up. “I’m so glad you asked.” She’s smirking again, which isn’t a good sign, but Gilbert’s determined to get absolutely _smashed_ tonight, so he’s pretty much beyond caring at this point. He barely listens to her outlining what seems to be the basic rules of Monopoly – though he does pay attention when she says what constitutes taking a shot.

Beside him, Roderich seems to be getting nervous. He’s shrinking in on himself, subtly, in ways that Gilbert’s sure no one else notices. Under the table, he squeezes Roderich’s hand for the briefest moment, and is rewarded with a small smile and a more relaxed Austrian.

“Alright, who wants to go first?”

“Me, kesese!” He snatches the dice up before anyone can grab them and rolls them across the board, nearly scattering the ‘muggle world’ cards. He moves forward six spaces and buys Privet Drive without even thinking about it, just to take another shot.

“Already buying things?” Tino shakes his head. “Bad strategy, Gil.”

“Eh, fuck that. The awesome me does whatever.”

“He’s right.”

“Monosyllable as usual, eh, Swede? Good to know there’s _something_ reliable in this world.”

To Gilbert’s astonishment, Berwald _actually_ smiles.

“Gott damn,” Gilbert mutters. “All that time with little Finn here must’ve softened you up a _lot_ more than anyone expected. Next thing you know, you’ll be laughing.”

“Su-san laughs all the time!” Finn interjects, ignoring the eye roll that Berwald shoots. “Oops! I mean Berwald!”

Gilbert snorts. “Always the same old with you two. Well, glad to see the relationship is working for you.”

Tino beams at him, and Berwald just looks really fucking pleased with himself.

Ludwig snatches the dice up then and lands on The Burrow, two spaces ahead of Gilbert. Like his bruder, he buys the space immediately and takes his shot.

“What is it with these Germans?” Eliza wonders aloud.

“My turn!” Feli squeals. He rolls the dice – and gets a six. He looks so disappointed that Gilbert doesn’t have the heart to charge him for rent, and just pushes the dice toward Eliza with a roll of his eyes.

Once they’ve all taken their first turns, Gilbert’s pleased to see that the third white space – Hagrid’s hut, remains open. He shares a glance with Ludwig, and they nod at each other. They’ve got their usual strategy set – they buy out sets properties, making sure that at they’re the only two who own something in a set, and then trade around properties until they can build massive hotel empires on their spaces. It’s their favorite way of dominating the board – even if it doesn’t _quite_ fit in with the original rules. But then again, Gilbert’s never been one for following the rules, and Ludwig’s too competitive to take losing very well.

Ten rounds later, they’re drunk than fuck, and they’re got the beginning of their empire in the works. Ludwig’s taken over the white spaces – he likes to be frugal with his money until the last possible second, waiting until the majority of the players are down on cash before swapping houses in for hotels. Gilbert’s amassed the orange spaces – his personal favorites, because _everyone_ seems to land there, especially people just getting out of jail. Tino and Berwald are similarly sharing their luck, owning three out of the four Houses (Gilbert’s _determined_ to own Slytherin, just because it’s his House), and Eliza is quickly gaining the yellow and green spaces.

Feliciano, though,

Either the kid is a secret mastermind, or else he’s playing off sheer, dumb luck. Within the first two rounds, he owned two red spaces and both blue spaces, and hit ‘Wizarding World’ more times than Gilbert thinks should actually be possible in a dice-controlled game. The kid’s frigging rich, and steadily gaining money. Ludwig seems – well, surprised would be a bit of an understatement, really. He looks totally floored, and kind of like he’s regretting agreeing to play this – but he’s too drunk and too stubborn to back out, now, and Gilbert knows they’ll at least come out decently with their empire.

And then there’s Roderich.

The prissy Austrian had steadfastly refused to buy _any_ property – until Eliza yelled at him in Hungarian, prompting him to start choosing the cheaper of the few options left – the purple and pink spaces. He’s got three of them now – and he would have more, if it weren’t for the fact that he keeps getting sent to Azkaban. Gilbert’s not sure he’s ever seen _anyone_ have this much bad luck. Roderich would be doing so much better if he didn’t waste three turns trying to get out by rolling doubles – but then he’d have to pay a fine, and Roderich’s never been one to pay unnecessary fines, even in fake money.

“Come on, Specs,” Gilbert slurs after Roderich’s fourth stay in Azkaban. “Just pay the damn fine, it’s not like you don’t have enough money.”

“No,” Roderich snaps. “I don’t need to.” He downs his mandatory shot – and there’s a red flush creeping up his neck now, like he’s had too many drinks already, and he’s wobbling the slightest bit where he’s sitting next to Gilbert.

“Play by the fucking rules!” Eliza yells, as Gilbert and Ludwig trade knowing glances and swap out all of their houses for hotels.

“We are, Lizzy,” Gilbert sneers. “It’s not my fault if you suck at this game.”

“I do not suck!”

“Does that mean you swallow?”

Gilbert’s probably enjoying Eliza’s annoyance _way_ too much, but it isn’t often that he gets to do this without _really_ pissing her off. Drunk Eliza is nothing compared to how she gets when she’s sober.

“Neither,” Roderich says suddenly, voice starting to slur. “She eats out.”

Gilbert stares at him for the _longest_ moment of his life – and then bursts out laughing.

“Shut the fuck up!”

“I always knew you were a lesbian!” Gilbert crows, feeling a surprising amount of victory. He’d always suspected – especially with the way that neither Eliza nor Roderich seemed particularly bothered with their marriage ending – but Eliza had always stoutly refused to tell him otherwise.

He narrowly dodges the pillow that she launches at him, but Roderich isn’t so lucky.  He’s hit in the face, and is drunk enough that it _actually_ unsteadies him and sends him crashing backwards onto the floor. Gilbert tries to catch him – but Gilbert’s too drunk to have much coordination and ends up land sprawled across Roderich’s stomach.

“Fancy seeing you down here,” he mutters, and flashes his best charming grin at the frowning Austrian.

“Get off me, you oaf,” Roderich slurs.

“Nein, you’re comfortable.”

“Gilbert,” Roderich whines, “you’re heavy. Get _off_.”

“If you insist.” He winks, and Roderich flushes a beautiful red. His dick perks up at the sight – and he scrambles back off Roderich before the Austrian can notice.

“Alright,” he exclaims, “one of you bastards owes me some rent money.”

 

Kiku wakes to lips on his neck.

All things considered, it’s a pretty pleasant way to wake up. He lets out this shaky little whimper that he _swears_ can’t have actually come from his mouth – and Alfred’s smirking against his neck, the bastard.

“Evening,” he whispers, voice still rough with sleep. “Thought I’d give you a good wake up.”

“It worked,” Kiku whispers back, voice wavering in a way he’s never heard before. Clears his throat and rolls over, pressing himself up against Alfred, molding their bodies together like they were made to be together. It’s ridiculously sappy, he thinks, but he can’t stop thoughts like those from creeping into his brain. He feels like he’s known Alfred forever, like their being together was predestined – and he also feels like he’s been watching too much anime, sometimes, because normal people don’t think things like that.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” Alfred murmurs.

“Just thinking.” Kiku takes advantage of Alfred’s distraction to drag his lips across Alfred’s neck. The American sucks in a breath, leaning into the touch and tugging Kiku closer at the same time.

“God,” Alfred whispers, eyes half closed. “I – I still want to do this the right way, but you’re making it pretty damn hard.”

“Hai, you are,” Kiku whispers as he nips at the sensitive skin at the base of Alfred’s neck.

Alfred moans, loudly, and arches up toward Kiku. “Did you – did you just make a sex joke?” he rasps.

“I don’t know. Did I?” He sinks his teeth down – lightly – and sucks a bright red mark against Alfred’s collarbone, then flicks his tongue across the skin to soothe it. Alfred’s eyes are closed and his breath is coming too hard and his nails are digging into Kiku’s skin where he’s gripping too tightly – and it’s all too much, suddenly, and Kiku has to pull away before he gets overwhelmed – because he’s _never actually done this before_ , and he’s too embarrassed to let Alfred know.

“Okay,” he says. “The right way.”

Alfred takes another five minutes to get his breathing under control – and then he presses a kiss to Kiku’s forehead and disappears out the door with a whispered _stay here_.

And – okay, Kiku can do that. He can lay here and try to get his dick to _stay down_ because it’s _not time for that yet_ – and maybe he’s a little nervous, but who wouldn’t be? It’s not exactly a secret that Alfred has been with a lot of partners in the past – both male and female – and his _experience_ kind of worries Kiku. Alfred has told him – repeatedly, really, and it was kind of cute how worried Alfred was that Kiku wouldn’t believe him – that he’s never cheated on _anyone_ and doesn’t plan to start now, and that he actually _regrets_ being so – well, promiscuous is the term, but Kiku shudders at the thought – promiscuous in his younger days. And Kiku can kind of understand, because sure, he’s felt the urge before, too – he’s only a man, after all – but he’s never acted on it, never tried to take things to that level with another person before. Until a few centuries ago, he’d been perfectly happy staying isolated from the rest of the world.

He’s managed to freak himself out by the time Alfred comes back, carrying a tray of breakfast food. There’s a red rose on the tray, and Kiku nearly starts crying – because it’s beautiful, and because no one has ever been this kind to him before, and because he’s sure that he’s never going to love anyone as much as he loves Alfred in this moment. Alfred looks damn near _shy_ as he crawls into bed beside Kiku and situates the tray across both of their laps.

“I know it’s almost nighttime,” he says softly, “but I figured, hey, everyone loves breakfast in bed. It seemed fitting, you know?”

Kiku just smiles at him and kisses his cheek. He leans forward and plucks the rose off the tray, setting it on the bedside table instead.

“It’s beautiful, Alfred,” he says. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Alfred’s smile grows a little more confident. His cheeks turn pink as he starts feeding Kiku off of his fork – and Kiku’s heart is in his throat, making it difficult to swallow, because Alfred’s just being so _gentle_ with him, like he _knows_ , and Kiku’s not sure what’s worse – having him know, or keeping it from him. He decides on the later when Alfred leans his head against his shoulder, humming in a way that’s just soul-deep happiness.

“Alfred,” he whispers, and then clears his throat because his voice is too rough with worry. “I – I think you should know – I have not done this before.” He stares at his hands, folded neatly in his lap. “With – with anyone, at all.”

“Really?” Alfred’s eyes are wide. “I – oh, Kiku.”

He wasn’t really expecting Alfred to kiss him, but he can’t exactly complain about it. Alfred’s kiss is soft and gentle, filled with promises that make Kiku’s heart feel like it’s going to beat out of his chest.

“Kiku,” Alfred breathes against his lips. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me. For letting me be your first.” Alfred rests his forehead against Kiku’s and just smiles, blue eyes sparkling with happiness. “I’ll make it so special, I swear. You won’t be disappointed.”

“You could never disappointment me,” Kiku whispers.

Alfred gives him a crooked smile, and moves the tray off to the table on his side of the bed. Pushes Kiku back against the pillows and straddles his lap – and, God, Kiku could get used to this, to looking up at Alfred’s _sparkling_ sapphire eyes. He’s beautiful, truly, and Kiku still can’t quite wrap his head around the fact that out of almost two hundred nations, he gets to be the one to win Alfred’s heart. Because, no matter what the rest of the world thinks, Alfred is something special, someone that deserves all the best things in life – and he’s trying to give _Kiku_ all the best things in life.

“You’re crying.” Alfred brushes the tears out of the corners of his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Kiku whispers. “Just happy. You are mine.”

“I’m yours.” Alfred smiles at him, so bright and happy, before leaning down to press their lips together. Gentleness flies out of the window once Alfred’s teeth scrape against Kiku’s bottom lip – he gasps, opening his mouth to Alfred’s tongue, and tugs the panting American closer.

“Alfred,” he gasps.

“I’m right here, love.”

Whine when Alfred pulls back – and then Alfred’s got a bottle of lube in his hands and Kiku can’t stop _staring_. Alfred smears it all over his hand and then – with a devious smirk – tugs Kiku’s boxers down and wraps a hand around him.

A full-body shudder tears through him – having someone else do this is so _different_ than him doing it on his own, and Alfred seems to be doing his best to make Kiku fall apart, and his heart just _aches_. Alfred’s thumb spreads around the dampness at the top of his dick, and Kiku’s mouth falls open in a soundless moan. His back arches off the bed – and then Alfred’s free hand is there, rolling a sensitive nipple in his hand, and Kiku moans loader than he realized he was capable of. Alfred groans, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and Kiku reaches up until he can tug Alfred back down for another kiss. It’s more of an uncoordinated mash of teeth and lips than a real kiss – but Kiku’s shaking too badly with need to care very much, and Alfred’s whining like _he’s_ the one being touched, and it’s just all too much for Kiku.

“Good?”

And – Alfred sounds _wrecked_. Kiku’s heart is slamming painfully in his chest and he – he never wants this moment to end, and then –

And then there’s a hand cupping his balls, and fingers sliding against his opening, and he nearly loses it then and there. Just barely stops himself from coming, just _barely_ – and Alfred’s _way_ too pleased with himself now. He’s grinning above Kiku, bright and beautiful, as he circles his entrance with one slick finger, just barely dipping it in and out – and it’s madness, absolute madness, and Kiku’s never felt this desperate in his life.

“Good?” Alfred murmurs against his lips, and Kiku has to remind himself to nod.

And then – and _then_ – Alfred’s finger dips inside and _stays_ , working in and out. It’s strange at first, an intrusion that makes him tense up, but then Alfred’s mouth closes around his nipple and all of the tension leaves him in one big rush. He arches up into Alfred’s mouth as Alfred stretches him with one finger. Hardly notices when Alfred adds the second one – and then he does notice, when a white-hot burst of pleasure shoots through his body.

“Oh God,” he whispers, voice rough, “do that again.”

Alfred moves his fingers, rubbing across the same spot, and Kiku nearly blacks out with how hard he comes. The world whites out around him and he’s gasping, desperate for air.

“Jesus, Kiku,” Alfred whispers. When Kiku finally manages to open his eyes he sees that Alfred’s got a hand around his own dick, squeezing to keep himself from coming. Kiku reaches out – wraps his hand around Alfred’s – and starts jerking him slow, too slow if the desperate noises Alfred’s making are any indication.

“Don’t – tease –” Alfred gasps, trying to coordinate himself enough to kiss Kiku.

“Like you do?” Kiku murmurs.

“I want to – want to make this good for you.”

“Hush. It already is.” Presses his lips to Alfred and scraps his teeth across Alfred’s bottom lip, grinning when Alfred gasps and pushes into Kiku’s hand.

“Oh, God,” Alfred says, and then he whimpers, actually _whimpers_ , as he comes across Kiku’s stomach. Full-body flops against Kiku’s side, limp and boneless like he never wants to move again.

“Give me a minute,” he rasps. “I – I recover fast, Jesus, Kiku, that was –”

“I know,” Kiku whispers. Alfred’s knee keeps brushing against his dick, and he’s going to recover a _lot_ faster than he thought he’d be able to if Alfred doesn’t stop. Alfred, thank God, realizes – but instead of stopping he _grins_ and slides his fingers across Kiku’s balls, and Kiku goes from zero to a hundred in barely a second. Alfred’s fingers slide back to where they were, working him open, and it’s probably the most maddening experience of his life – too much and not enough, until his body isn’t sure what it should be feeling.

Alfred adds a third finger, and then a fourth, before he deems Kiku ready. He snaps a condom over himself, already half-hard, and strokes himself back to full hardness. With shaking hands, he pushes Kiku’s knees up and presses the tip of his dick into Kiku’s entrance – and Kiku’s so glad for the preparation, because he’s never felt anything like this before. Never even _tried_ to experiment with his fingers – had just read about it manga, before he was too embarrassed to even _look_ at yaoi, and nothing could ever quite prepare him for the feeling of fullness. It takes a few moments – a few long, excruciating moments – before Alfred’s fully inside him, and pressing himself against that _one spot_ – and Kiku’s desperate, suddenly, for Alfred to move.

“Move,” he chokes out, body thrumming with pent-up tension. “God, Alfred –”

“Kiku,” Alfred groans. He pulls his hips and snaps them back in, hard and fast, and Kiku cries out as Alfred brushes up against his prostate again. And then he’s reaching up, hands grabbing at Alfred’s hair, and Alfred lets out a moan that goes straight to Kiku’s dick. He yanks Alfred’s head up and crushes their lips together, uncoordinated and uncaring, until they’re just gasping against each other’s mouths, panting for breath. Alfred’s hips are shaking as he tries to stay still, to keep kissing Kiku, but suddenly it’s too much. Alfred’s head falls down to Kiku’s chest, biting and sucking marks across the sensitive skin, as he jerks Kiku off with one hand – and then everything’s tightening, building to a climax, and Kiku barely has time to gasp out a warning before he’s coming again, this time on Alfred’s chest. He sprawls back against the pillows, gasping and panting and desperate for air, as Alfred’s hips push in and out of him, erratic and hasty – and then Alfred’s coming, and it’s probably the most intimate experience of Kiku’s life.

It takes a few minutes for Alfred to recover enough to pull out and slide the condom off. He sags against Kiku, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, and just breathes against Kiku’s neck.

“Wow,” Kiku whispers, for lack of a better word.

“Yeah.” Alfred laughs, shaky and beautiful. “Wow.” He turns his head enough to kiss Kiku’s cheek, soft and gentle, and Kiku just breathes the wave of utter contentment that washes through him.

“How about,” Alfred whispers, and then pauses to kiss him, “we just stay in bed for the next few days.”

Kiku smiles. “Hai, that sounds nice.”

 

Roderich does _not_ make it through the game – not even close.

It gets heated toward the end, because all of the properties have been bought out and it’s pretty much down to whoever goes the longest without going bankrupt – and Roderich, apparently, is too much of a lightweight to be much use past his eighth shot. He just kind of gives up and ends up half slumped in Gilbert’s lap, going in and out of sleep with how much Gilbert moves around. He and Ludwig – thanks to their _brilliant_ strategies – end up being crowned the winner, with Feliciano coming in a very close second, much to the annoyance of Eliza. Gilbert proclaims the night to be a totally success, especially once Eliza stomps off to bed without so much as a word.

Ludwig, meanwhile, is still sober enough to remember to remind Tino and Berwald that they’re welcome to stay the night, even if the couches aren’t very comfortable. They accept easily – though Gilbert’s not fully convinced that Berwald isn’t stone-cold sober, or at least enough to drive them back to Finland or Sweden or wherever for the night. Ludwig, though, has to deal with a squirming Feliciano, who seems to be more interested in taking more shots than in going to bed, and Gilbert (if he remembers in the morning) is going to have to ask his brother if he managed to finally get laid.

Roderich, however, is _very_ interested in going to sleep. Gilbert pretty much has to carry him up the stairs – and then Roderich, ever stubborn, _refuses_ to go to sleep with Gilbert in the same bed, and Gilbert tries _so fucking hard_ to not take that the wrong way. Strips down to his boxers and his shirt and crawls into bed with a drunk Austrian – and that’s _never_ a good idea, either one of them being drunk – and tries to pretend that his heart isn’t pounding like crazy when Roderich curls into his space and passes out almost instantly. He’s sure, so sure, that his insomnia is going to keep him up for _hours_ – but he must be more drunk than he originally thought, because his eyes are closing seconds later.

Roderich’s breathing lulls him to sleep like a lullaby, soft and gentle right next to his hear, and his heart fucking _aches_ for his man. Falls asleep curled around him like he can protect Roderich from the rest of the world, from getting hurt ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm really not experienced with writing sex scenes. I hope you all enjoyed the scene with Alfred and Kiku!
> 
> Also, the spaces for the Monopoly board were found by Google searching "Harry Potter Monopoly," so forgive me if there are any mistakes!


	21. Update

Okay. It has been absolutely  _forever_ since I've even looked at this story. I know there are a lot of you waiting patiently for updates. You'll probably disagree with me, but I don't really like the direction I took with this story, and that's the reason I haven't gone back to it. BUT, I've also decided to give this story a second chance. I will be re-writing this entire story from the beginning for this year's NaNoWriMo event. So, expect new writing from me in a week!


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